Bridge to Labyrinthia
by Number One Fan of Journey
Summary: (Earth-shattering spoilers for PL vs AA.) Zacharias Barnham must make a new life for himself while dealing with the old life he had lost ten years ago.
1. After the End

A/N: I seem to be writing another fanfic. I tried to resist, but this has pestered me to no end, so here it is. Hopefully it will at least mildly pester me until it is finished.

Do note that this is after _Professor Layton versus Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney_ and that I approached this game from the _Ace Attorney_ side. I have only gotten through two other Layton games, so my knowledge of him is limited. The Professor, however, is not the main character, so I hope I am able to portray him and Luke respectably despite my tepid endeavors into the fandom.

As usual, this contains stress and violence. Enjoy.

* * *

Inquisitor Barnham thought that it was quite reasonable to be upset about his arrest.

It was not, however, reasonable to be shaken to this degree.

As his head pounded, he said not a word, the knights formerly under his command leading him to the finest dungeon cell of the building. They still fidgeted as they prepared to lock him in.

"I am well aware you are following the High Inquisitor's orders. Go on."

Before a knight could grip the door to shut it, another head throb—

_Mustn't be caught mustn't be caught mustn't be caught mustn't—_

The door rattling shut snapped Barnham's eyes open, the hazy silhouette in his mind's eye vanishing.

_What _was_ that?_

The knights saluted him before hastily turning away from their incarcerated superior and going on out.

At that point, Barnham lost the ability to keep his breathing under control. Short, quick bursts of air came in and out as his head throbbed further.

Had he... had a vision of some sort? Was it witchcraft? Was that what was exerting a hold over him now?

A bolt of pain shot through his chest as another image flicked across his field of vision. A boy in loose clothes and a hat, crouching in the dark. Nothing but fear and panic.

_Mustn't be caught mustn't be caught mustn't be caught mustn't be c-caught...!  
_

A tingling hand went to the side of his head as if to contain the migraine, but it did no good whatsoever. Another pang crossed his chest.

_Am I—Am I dying? _he thought.

"Wh... wh-wh..."

Unable to even ask what kind of witchcraft this was, he seated himself by the wall before he could fall outright.

Was this truly death? A lack of air, a pained heart, numbness of the hands... Surely it was. He was dying. All his work, and he was _dying_...!

What spell... What witch...

He knew of no spell that did this, but that hardly meant none existed.

_Could_ there have been another reason for this? But what else? What else? What had he done...?

Blurred, black patches spotted his vision as his lungs proved too weak to call for help.

No! He couldn't... Couldn't die here! He had too much to do... Th-the final trial, he... Would he have to miss the whole thing? The end of the quest to which he had dedicated his life, coming and going without him present?

But what could be done if he were dead?

_Help...! Kn-knights, please...! You must come back! I-I command you!  
_

But who would save him? Sir Belduke? No. No one was capable. Not if this was witchcraft, nor if it was anything else. He would die here. He would be found dead at the next patrol of the dungeon...

Throat straining as he continued to breathe too fast to keep his vision clear, he struggled desperately to shake some sense into himself. H-he was not necessarily dying. He was... unwell, and... locked up—

_MUSTN'T BE CAUGHT MUSTN'T BE CAUGHT MUSTN'T BE CAUGHT  
_

A surge of panic swept over him like a pulse of cold blood as his posture slipped, leaving him to lie on the ground as if he were already dead.

But wasn't he, really? And all for nothing...

He nearly cried before he fell unconscious.

* * *

He knew it was just beyond his reach. But that was no matter. It had haunted him more than enough, and he would seize it with his own hands!

That is, if _they_ didn't catch up first.

It was too dark to see as far as an arm's length ahead, but that could not stop him. It was there. He had to find it!

The thing glimmered as he reached out towards it, but the next step plunged him into visionless waters.

It was lost. But they were still coming. They would certainly find him now.

He struggled to kick his way back to the surface, but the hands came upon him, grabbing his limbs, covering his mouth, pulling him away, before he could reach air.

Still dark. Still chasing. Still being chased. That was how things were. That would not change until he found it. He must find it. It was so close, he could tell...

Much time was spent running and stumbling through darkness before a hint of light entered the dream.

He would still find it. But running was not the only way to search.

In his part of the Inquisitors' Hall, he pored over documents lit by candles until his head throbbed.

No. He had to keep searching. It was there. He needed to find it. For the sake of everyone he knew and protected, he had to find it...!

* * *

The light flickered a bit before Barnham realised it was that of the waking world. Sucking in deep breaths, he waited for an unknown force to cease crunching on his head. More focus returned to his eyes, and he began to stir.

"Bark, bark! ...Bark!"

"Constantine...?" He tried to sit up a bit more. "Ungh..."

Even with his mind not quite in sync with his body, Barnham was still able to recognise the sound of fur brushing against his armor.

"Constantine." He reached out and felt the small dog press himself against his arm.

With a long exhale, Barnham patted him. At least something appeared to be right...

"Inquisitor Barnham?"

"Hrmf?" Furrowing his brow, he pushed himself up a bit more to see his door wide open, Jean Greyerl standing just beyond it.

"What?!" He cringed back, his arm shielding his face. "Ms Greyerl! What on earth are you doing outside of your cell?!"

It entered his mind to apprehend her immediately, but he was far too stiff from however much time he had spent lying unconscious in full armor.

Her eyes widened, although her posture didn't change otherwise. "Ah..." Her hand covered her mouth a bit as her gaze slid sideways. "I suppose you have no way of knowing what happened, after all." She smiled, dropping her hand to her elbow. "I was released because I am not a witch."

"What...?" What blasphemy was this? Did he himself not prove that she was a witch?

"If you'll please follow me to the town square, Inquisitor Barnham. I believe there will be plenty of... more trustworthy citizens there to inform you of the results of the last Witch Trial."

_The results...? So I had missed it after all._

"Very well." Having no other option, he rose to his feet and did his best to keep up with her, Constantine at his heels.

They entered the main hall before his head split in two.

"...!" Breath caught below his throat, he froze in place, a hand flying to the side of his head.

"Inquisitor Barnham?" Greyerl backed up a bit to check on him, but he was in no danger of falling over.

_It was me. The hiding boy was me. I could not be taken to prison, by any means. That was... That was all I had the power to do..._

Breathing heavily, he let his hand drop as the pain subsided.

Greyerl looked to the side. "Ah. So you are affected as well."

Teeth gritted, he turned his head just enough to look at her. "What is the meaning of this?"

Greyerl shook her head. "You've come across a memory, I take it? From over ten years ago?"

"It was... when I was sixteen..." How was he so certain of that? He had never recalled anything like this before.

"I see. Most of the townspeople have been having flashbacks like this since the curse was broken. Since I was too young to remember much of anything from over ten years ago, I was pegged as the most reliable guide to see you to the town square."

"Is that so...?"

He had no real reason to trust her, nor to doubt her. As it was, he would follow her to the other townspeople at the last Witches' Court and ask the others what on earth had happened.

* * *

Nothing made sense, but it was true nonetheless. Nothing else would explain the machinery, the flashbacks, the entire story. It wasn't logical, but... life was not always logical.

"The experiment has ended, albeit far later than it should have." The Storyteller—rather, Arthur Cantabella—watched him steadily. "It is entirely your choice what life to lead now. Many are staying in this town despite its artificiality... but there is now nothing stopping you from leaving."

Barnham nodded solemnly and scanned the faces around him. The townsfolk he had tried to protect every day of his life here. The "witches" he had sent to the flames himself—they still eyed him with a hint of wariness. The newcomers that had rung in the grand end of the Story, for better or for worse.

But it was someone other than these for whom he made his decision.

"Sir Blue Knight, Sir Top Hat." He dipped his head. "I would be honored to accompany you to the world outside of Labyrinthia."

"I see." Wright smiled, arm akimbo. "I'd be happy to have you take your first steps outside with us."

Layton smiled as well. "I commend your bravery in being willing to do so, Mr Barnham."

_Bravery, eh?_

Luke grinned, gripping the bill of his cap. "There are just enough seats on the boat for the five of us, too!"

"A five-person boat?" Barnham said.

_The death of the engine, the water soaking his shoes and trousers—_

He kept his eyes shut. "I could drive it myself, if you'd like. I've had some experience with them."

"Really? That's so cool!" Maya fisted her hands. "Were you a boat driver in your past life, Mr Barnham?"

"No."

"Hmm." She leaned her face on one hand. "A boat repairman, maybe?"

Phoenix slouched. "Somehow I don't think that's it, either."

"Mr Barnham." The Professor raised his hand, one finger uncurled towards the sky. "It is most gracious of you to offer, and you may drive the boat if that is your wish. I do recommend, however, a change of clothes before you approach the outside world."

Barnham couldn't help but glance down at his suit of armor. "That would be prudent, yes."

"But what about Constantine?" Maya cried. "He's too cute in that helmet to take it off of him!"

Luke frowned. "Well, he wouldn't seem the same, that's for certain." He perked up again, adjusting his cap. "But he'd be just as fluffy either way, wouldn't he?"

Clearly unsure about this conversation, Constantine sniffed at his vest and then barked.

"Oh!" Luke lifted a finger. "All right, then! I look forward to seeing the new you, Constantine!"

"Bark!"

"Then I shall not keep you from waiting any longer for the new Barnham and Constantine," Barnham said, turning towards the tailor's shop, which was currently quite bustling.


	2. Before the Beginning

"Well, I guess there's nothing else to do," Zacharias said, watching clouds pass behind the silhouette of the school building. "It's time to go home."

"Already? I was hoping we could maybe visit Jessica's house..."

He shook his head. "It's too late for that. I'm not going to risk really upsetting Mum and Dad today."

His little brother cringed, and he made himself stand straighter and smile.

"Don't worry, Constantine. We're extremely close to where we want to be, remember? So then... Race you to the front door!"

Constantine instantly grinned. "Oh, is a race what you want? You'll regret challenging one such as myself!" He lunged enough to stretch out his hamstrings.

"We shall see about that! Three... Two... One... Go!"

Both of them shot forward, worn shoes pounding the street as the spirit of competition took over.

It was only a block, of course, before Zacharias had pulled ahead. Although Constantine was full of energy, his legs were significantly shorter. For the rest of the trip, he would be trailing behind his brother.

It seemed there was nothing wrong with that. Zacharias's shadow was the happiest place for Constantine. If the younger could match every last footstep of the other, he would be pleased. Even when he had failed the same test Zacharias had had six years before, the younger brother had been filled with more pride than one could have ever expected.

"I thought you said you would win, Constantine!" the elder called from ahead without turning his neck.

"Well, we're not there yet, are we?" Constantine shouted back, making his feet smack against the pavement even faster.

"Well-put! Let the battle continue!"

Overcome by panting, they let the conversation lapse for another minute as their home drew near.

Quite suddenly Zacharias seemed to notice the grey, clouded sky. It wasn't raining at the moment, but that would only hold for a little while. Even if he was having a thrilling race with his little brother, it wouldn't be long before they were home...

But that place wouldn't be home for much longer. Even if the rain came pouring down, he and Constantine were headed for brighter skies afterwards. They could make it now, he was certain. Constantine was still rather small and a bit skinny, but he could run, and that was all he needed. Zacharias himself was strong enough now to worry about the rest—anything else they might run into. Or anyone.

Despite being quite strict about the rules, he had intentionally drawn a few fights, to see what he could do. He was well-aware of how much he could take, but how much could he dish out? Was he strong enough to protect himself, let alone his little brother, in a world like theirs?

He had been through enough trials that he was sure he could handle whatever came his way. So now was the time to finally, _finally, _make his move.

Not in the evening, of course. Minutes from now, they would probably be punished for their tardiness then allowed to eat some dinner, either at home or some low-cost restaurant. More than likely, they would be sent directly to bed afterward. But that was all right. That he could handle, especially knowing what would come next. Once Mum and Dad's guards were down as they slept soundly... It would begin. The sun would come if Zacharias had to tear the clouds away with his own hands. The rain would at last subside, never to trouble them again.

Water began to sprinkle the pavement as they came up to the front door. Zacharias had won the race by some distance, but he made no comment of it now. No use bragging over such an assured victory... And no use feigning joy when the door to their home was about to be opened.

Ensuring that Constantine was right behind him, Zacharias rearranged his bookbag, smoothed out as much of his hair as he could, and knocked before quietly turning the doorknob.

"Mum? Dad?"

The electricity was on, shedding light across the entryway and the doorways to the hall and living room. To the left, a stronger light glowed from the dining room.

"We're home."

"My goodness, boys! Do you know what time it is?"

Sweat unrelated to his run dripped down his cheek. "Yes. We're a bit late. I'm t-terribly sorry. One of the girls was sick right at the front door of the classroom, and we had to help clean it up before we were allowed to leave..."

"Is that so?" His mother crossed into the entryway, her long, thin legs strutting until she stopped and pivoted sharply to face her sons. She seized Zacharias's left wrist and brought his hand close to her face. With a toothed frown, she flung his hand back at him.

"You don't smell one bit like vomit. What's the real reason you're late, hmm?"

Gripping his wrist, Zacharias stood his ground. "W-we washed our hands afterwards, Mum! Do you really think we wouldn't, after _that_?"

"I have two children. I know well enough how hard it is to erase the smell completely." She took a deep breath, staring down her nose at them. "What trouble have you boys been getting into? No more lies! Do you hear me? I've had enough of these excuses for why you stay out there roaming the streets after school's out. Give me the truth."

"The truth?" Zacharias dropped his hands to his sides and pressed them to his thighs to keep them from shaking. "I've made the truth clear, Mum. It's your choice if you believe it or not."

From the corner of his eye, he could make out Constantine nodding. Without making a sound, Zacharias tapped his heel to his little brother's toe to signal him to stop. There was no need to get any more involved than he already was.

"Don't back-talk me!" Seething, she dug her fingers into Zacharias's shoulders until he made eye contact with her. "You don't think I know you've been getting into fights, Zacharias? It's plain as day!"

He bared his teeth in a grimace. "I did not 'get into' any fight. I was just trying to keep an unruly student—"

"From doing this or that, and that alone made you come home with a concussion and a broken nose?"

"Those fellows hit hard..."

Even the look in her dry eyes made it clear she was hardly listening. "If you're so fond of getting yourself beaten, I'll leave your punishment to your father!"

Once she released her grip to pull him by the arm, Zacharias could no longer keep his shoulders from shaking.

"Stop it!"

Though her polished nails still dug into the flesh of his forearm, his mother stopped to look back at Constantine. Zacharias did the same, abandoning all pretense and shaking his head madly.

Teary-eyed, Constantine clenched his fists but couldn't quite make eye contact with his mother. "Please! W-we haven't gotten into any trouble! We h-haven't done anything wrong! Zach hasn't fought anybody, a-and..."

"I won't be swayed by your little act, Constantine. Go to your room."

His mouth hung open as if he were ready to object, but he finally locked eyes with his brother and stopped.

"Y-yes, ma'am," Constantine got out, glancing at his brother one more time before fleeing to their bedroom.

Zacharias, meanwhile, held his breath as he was taken into the gin-smelling living room, where his father had surely heard every word.

* * *

Despite the reverberating throbbing pain that didn't stop throughout dinner, Zacharias made sure to hide a few morsels in his bookbag before he slipped into the bedroom for the evening. Once he shut the door behind him, Constantine bolted off the bed.

"Z-Zach!" he whispered. "Did... Are you..."

He held up a hand, sending a little ache through the bruise on his shoulder. "I'm all right. Just a paddling for being a liar. They at least need better evidence of my supposed derelict after-school life before I'm to be punished severely enough for that."

"I-I'm sorry." Constantine looked down, gripping the edges of his long sleeves. "I should have said more..."

"Rubbish. It would not have been any easier for me if you were in danger. I thought I made it clear you staying silent was precisely what I wanted." He patted his little brother on the head gently, the fluffy mass of light hair springing back into place.

Constantine smiled a little bit as Zacharias stepped further inside and knelt by the bed, going through his knapsack. Retrieving two rolls and an entirely bland piece of chicken from the usual pocket, he offered them to his little brother.

"Nothing really spectacular tonight, but what else would you expect?" He leaned his elbows on the bed, which creaked the slightest bit.

Constantine took a bite of roll and nodded. "It's better than nothing, anyway."

"I thought as much."

Zacharias scooted a bit to let his chest lean further onto the bed. Shutting his eyes, he smiled. "Now don't get too tired on that full belly of yours. Tonight's the night, you know."

"Of course I know!" Constantine said a bit too loudly. Shrinking, his voice drew back to a whisper. "You really think it's going to work?"

"We've spent a lot of time figuring everything out. Between the two of us, we've been more than smart enough."

"Just you would be more than smart enough," Constantine objected.

With a chuckle, Zacharias leaned his head against his outstretched arm. "Thank you." He let out a breath. "Although I've failed to do much before now. I must apologize for that."

Constantine, atop the bed, scooted right up in front of him. "What are you talking about, Zach?! Just because we've still been afraid doesn't mean you haven't done _anything_!"

"Ah." He looked up at his brother. "I didn't mean to sound so extreme about it. It's just that I haven't done anything as far as escaping."

Constantine nodded. "But that's all right. It's better to wait if it means we actually make it."

With a smile, Zacharias pushed himself to his feet only to splay himself across the bed, the motion sending the mattress bobbing and squeaking. "So let's be silent and wait.

"It's not much longer now."


	3. Finding a Home

"Sir—Mr Layton, I couldn't possibly trouble you like that."

Layton shook his head. "It's no trouble, I assure you. Considering your lack of modern funds as well as the assistance you've given me, I couldn't possibly refuse to host you."

Barnham took another moment to consider this. "Very well. In return, I shall do my best to find a way to support myself. Should you need my assistance in any matter, inform me and I'll be happy to help."

"Understood. Luke, my boy? Would you be so kind as to lead Mr Barnham to the guest room? I shall see to a few things down here in the meantime."

"Of course, Professor!" Luke adjusted his hat before stepping towards the stairway and turning his head back. "Mr Barnham, your room is upstairs, next to the music room. I hope you'll find it up to your standards."

"I do not doubt that it will be."

"And yours, too, of course, Constantine." Luke made it halfway up the stairs, his hand on the ornate railing, before he stopped. "Oh! Flora!"

Quizzical, Barnham took one more step up and looked past Luke. A bit past the end of the flight stood a young lady with rosy cheeks.

"Luke!" The girl gasped before hurrying down the stairs, her skirt hitched up, and attacking Luke with a hug.

"You're back! I didn't hear you come in." She pulled away, letting her arms fall as she held her hands together.

"Really?" Luke tilted the brim of his hat upwards and frowned. "I'm sorry. We should have called out to you straight off."

"It's all right. Once you rang from the station, I knew you were safe." She glanced behind Luke and blinked in surprise. "H-hello. You must be Mr Barnham?"

Barnham put a hand to his chest and bowed as well as he could without bumping into Luke. " 'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Miss Flora."

He paused, turning his gaze to Luke with a more dour expression. "I'll have you know that if you intend for me to have a room rightfully belonging to a young lady, I shall take no part in this."

"No, no! Of course that's not it!" Luke held up a finger. "Flora has her own room downstairs. You needn't worry about displacing her."

Flora smiled, backtracking up the stairs. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mr Barnham. I... I'd be happy to help you with your room after I welcome the professor back."

"There's no need for that, miss. Go on, Luke. Let's not keep her trapped here."

Flora quickly vanished around the side of the banister but managed to give them a nod before she hurried down the now-empty stairs.

Barnham shifted his heavier luggage to his other hand as he continued to follow Luke past what appeared to be some sort of playroom. "Is she your sister?"

"Who, Flora? I'm afraid she isn't. The professor has just taken us both under his wing, in a manner of speaking." He tilted his chin up. "Only _I_ am his actual apprentice, however."

Barnham shut his eyes, recalling how quickly Flora had scurried down the stairs both times. "The three of you seem very close."

"Well—M-Mr Barnham!"

The small suitcase hit the floor with a clatter as Barnham froze, hunching over as streaks cut across his vision and accompanying stabs shot through the center of his head. He knew by now that gripping his head would hardly help—he just had to power through as well as he could.

Easier said than done, with an army wreaking havoc on the insides of his skull.

_"Were there no vegetables tonight?"_

_Zacharias, sitting on the edge of the bed, frowned. "Stewed greens of some type, yes. But certainly nothing of restaurant quality."_

_Constantine's mouth scrunched to the side of his face as he crossed his arms._

_"I hardly imagined you would actually want any." Zacharias let his shoulder blades fall back onto the bed, sending a vibration through the mattress. "I never thought I'd see the day you would ask for more vegetables."_

_"Well, it's not as if I like the taste of them all of a sudden." He sniffed. "It's just that..." His expression hardened. "I must try to grow stronger."_

_He pushed himself up on one elbow. "You _must_?"_

_"Yes." Constantine's hands balled into fists. "As it is now, every time it's you protecting me. But I want to be able to protect you, too...!"_

"Ruff, ruff!"

"I can hear you." Barnham's voice was weak, and he made sure to force more air into it. "I'm all right."

He opened his eyes as the chaos just behind them faded into a dull throbbing. Luke had taken hold of the dropped suitcase despite its weight, while Constantine barked a few more times before picking up his own bag in his mouth.

"I apologize for that." Barnham extended a hand to Luke. "I'm certain I can handle that case the rest of the way."

Luke shook his head, smiling. "Don't worry! I've got it!" He gripped the handle with both hands and lifted the case off the ground, albeit slightly.

"Ungh..." He waddled a few steps forward, straining, before Barnham forcibly swiped the baggage from him.

"The professor's apprentice or otherwise, you're still just a boy. Don't get hurt overexerting yourself."

Luke frowned and took up the other luggage he had been carrying. "Um, sorry."

Barnham sighed as he continued to follow Luke towards the room. "I should have just kept the sword around my waist."

"As we went through the middle of London?! I think not!"

"It's not as if I would threaten anyone with it."

Luke set his burden down and turned a doorknob. "Even so, you do swing it around quite a bit trying to make your point."

His brow furrowed. "Quite a bit? Do I really?"

Luke adjusted his cap, smiling sheepishly. "Well..."

Barnham continued to ponder this for a moment before shaking his head. "I take it this is the guest room?"

"That's right! Your room now."

Barnham stepped forward, placing his case against the wall. Constantine did likewise as his master looked over the chamber.

Spacious and loosely furnished—though stocked with books that may well have overflown from the other rooms—it was painted a reasonable shade of brown that reflected quite a bit of the sparse sunlight entering the window. Shadows cast by the open shutters sent stripes across the clean bed, and a door on the side opposite it hid a small closet.

It was quaint enough. Nice carpet rather than a stone floor, electric lights rather than candles, nothing hanging on the walls, no need for a small fireplace, no displays of armour, no flags of Labyrinthia, no Lady Darklaw...

"What do you think, Mr Barnham? Will it do?"

And no Inquisitor Barnham...

No wonder so many had stayed behind in the town. It truly was an entirely different and disorienting world out here...

"The room is perfectly fine, thank you." He inhaled. "I'll bring the rest of my luggage in."

He turned to leave, but a glimmer on the bookshelf caught his eye. "Hmm?"

"What is it?" Luke followed his gaze before grabbing his hat and pointing. "Oh! It's a hidden puzzle!"

"Eh?" Barnham frowned. "Preposterous! An undiscovered puzzle, in the very home of Sir Top Hat?" He admittedly would have held out his sword for emphasis if it had been accessible. "With you and him both living here, no puzzle could ever escape detection."

Luke thought on this for a moment before grinning and tilting his hat upward. "Supposing we prefer to leave a few for our guests?"

Barnham lifted his hand, all but the index finger allowed to curl. "A solid argument." He opened his eyes. "Very well, then. What kind of puzzle is it?"

"I'll warn you right now, this one looks like a bit of a doozy..."

* * *

After several days of adaptation and too many proffered puzzles to successfully avoid, Barnham was able to secure a job. There were few available—even fewer considering his lack of a full secondary education—and none were particularly lucrative. But he had to start somewhere if he ever wanted to reimburse the professor, let alone follow the path laid out for him.

Ms Nguyen was a kind woman reminiscent of Patty Eclaire despite their vast difference in physique. The former, however, was a bit less fiery and held her craft at a much less serious level, although that wasn't saying much. Part of this could be due to her broader specialty; the Tao Cafe served various Asian dishes as well as many types of boba tea.

The restaurant wasn't known to be bustling, but Ms Nguyen could hardly run it by herself. With the afternoon waiter/cashier no longer in the industry, she was offering a reasonable per-hour pay, and she didn't seem to mind the holes in Barnham's formal education. So long as he was able to perform his duties politely and with a smile, he was welcome to work under her.

"Are Wednesdays typically this slow?" Barnham glanced over the empty chairs and couches as he cleaned the most recently used of the tables.

Ms Nguyen leaned her elbow on the window between the register and kitchen. "We don't get much at this hour any day but Saturday. The biggest waves are usually kids getting out of school, so it should pick up in hour or so."

And so it did. Most customers were happy to order a drink and leave, but three tables bustled with hungrier patrons.

"Are you new here?" asked one such patron, an older but very smiley teenage girl wearing a jersey that said Milliner.

Barnham nodded. " 'Tis in fact my first day. I should hope it does not prevent me from providing you with the best of service, milady—m-miss." Even if he was technically serving this young woman, that was not a proper form of address in this place. He would do well to finally get that through his head...

Miss Milliner poorly stifled a laugh, though she didn't seem to be jeering. " 'Milady'?"

Barnham sighed, raising a hand with fingers curled. "You could say... I was brought up in an interesting environment." He glanced at another table. "If you would be so kind as to excuse me..."

She didn't seem to mind, so he darted over to check on a quickly depleting glass of water. No sooner had he filled and returned it than the bell at the front door, which was made of some non-threatening metal, jangled. Barnham looked up in time to see two figures enter: one most likely a customer and the other far too small to be the same.

"Constantine!" Waiterly smile dropped, Barnham hurried to intercept the little creature. "I'm at work!"

Instantly he realised this meant very little to the dog who had always been free to wander about the court building and keep Barnham company as he perused evidence in the Inquisitors' Hall.

"Woof!"

"Oh! Is he your dog?" A younger patron on her way to the exit tried to peek around the troubled waiter. "He's so cute!"

"May I pet it?" asked another.

Barnham shot a glance at the customer who had just stepped in and apologised to him.

"Lady Nguyen?" He craned his neck to see her through the small kitchen window. "May I leave for a moment to have a word with Constantine?"

The cook paused, squinted eyes scanning the puppy. "He's well-trained?"

"Yes, but unfortunately not in regards to when and where he may keep me company."

Ms Nguyen waved a hand. "Just make sure he doesn't come in kitchen. He shouldn't be a problem."

"Are you certain?" Barnham asked, brow furrowed.

"Of course. Wash your hands and get back to your job."

"Yes, milady." He took a step back towards the sink behind the counter but paused to look Constantine in the eye. "Everyone here is an honoured guest. Treat them appropriately. You," he called to the patrons as he slipped behind the counter, "are free to pet him if he allows you to. Hand sanitizer is by the register should you feel you need it.

"I'm terribly sorry about the wait, sir. What may I get for you?"


	4. Losing a Home

Zacharias's parents bade each other good night at 22:32.

Keeping his footsteps silent as he crept back to his room, he began to calculate. Many precarious nights had been spent figuring out when the pair would sleep their deepest. Since today had been rather ordinary, there was no reason to believe their sleep cycles would be any different.

First, in forty-five minutes, he would disable the alarm to keep it from beeping when doors were opened. Then, in another thirty minutes, he would retrieve a few things from the rest of the house that would have been missed if he had gotten them earlier.

"Remember, you'll be staying right here pretending to sleep," Zacharias whispered, checking the alarm clock responsible for the meagre light in the room.

Hand inside his backpack, Constantine paused. "But what if I really _do _fall asleep?"

"Then you'll have even less of a chance of being suspected if they somehow wake up. If need be, I shall rouse you before it's time to leave, don't worry."

"But what if I'm still sleepy and noisy and—"

"Constantine. You'll be fine. We know what we're doing, don't we? Haven't we practised hard enough? You ought to be able to sneak out in your sleep. And if you're too bleary-eyed to fetch your bag, I shall get it myself."

Constantine clasped his hands together, looking down. "All right... I..." He looked up, eyes watery. "I-I promise I trust you, but I-I'm still so nervous..."

Zacharias pulled him into a hug. "We both are. This is a frightening task, after all." He pulled back, looking his brother in the eyes. "But we can do this. We're finally going to call another place home. Some place that deserves the title."

"Right." His little brother smiled. "Let's go for it, Zach. I-I'm ready."

He smiled back. "Good."

He hoped he was as well.

Constantine finished packing his bag, and Zacharias stowed it away in the back of the closet where it wouldn't be able to draw attention. Then there was nothing for the younger to do but pretend to sleep.

Zacharias gave him one last hug, able to feel both his brother's and his own trembling, before he pulled the sheets up.

"Good night, Constantine. It will be a bright morning."

* * *

At 23:17, Zacharias tiptoed out of his room. After a long pause to ensure he could hear nothing from across the hall but his father's snoring, he went ahead to the utility room. Leaning over the washing machine, he carefully but swiftly punched the necessary buttons on the alarm console to shut it off for the night. This in itself let out a few local beeps, so he froze before creeping back down the hallway. Still nothing but uninterrupted snoring.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he clasped his hands together, but he couldn't stop all of the trembling.

Things were still going perfectly well. Nothing to worry about. So now, the test.

Their escape would be at an ungodly hour, but there could still be eyes out there. It would be best to slip through the side door in order to observe their surroundings before being in range of any streetlights. That meant now was the time to make sure the door would open and close all right and wouldn't trigger the alarm system.

Zacharias slipped into the garage—that door didn't set off the alarm—and tried the next knob. Although the door wasn't used often, it didn't seem particularly rusted, and the handle turned easily. He held his breath as he swung the panel open.

No telltale beep. A bit of a squeak from the hinges, but nothing that could be heard from the master bedroom.

After ensuring that closing the door wasn't any more troublesome, he stepped back towards the car and sank to his knees. His wristwatch was accurate, so there was no need to return to the bedroom that lay so close to his parents'. Nervous or otherwise, Constantine would faithfully pull off his own part without needing more reassurance.

And so Zacharias sat in the darkness, with nothing to do but wait and remain silent. The next thirty minutes were impossibly long, but they did manage to pass by.

Getting his shivering under control for the moment, Zacharias tiptoed through the kitchen and living room for a few more supplies. He would keep the chef's knife in hand. He and Constantine would be leaving at a rather seedy time of night, after all, and a little extra glint of deterrent could come in handy.

His pack was full in a few more minutes, so he gripped the bookbag to keep it quiet as he slunk back to the side door.

So far, so good. Still no reason to fret. One more hour of laying low, and he and Constantine would finally bolt out of here.

Sick to his stomach with anxiety, Zacharias shut his eyes and leaned against a spot of the garage wall not taken up by brooms and tools. Just a bit more waiting... Why did there have to be so much waiting? Surely he could have just gotten everything together at once and left—but that might take too much time, putting the riskiest part of the operation where his less soundly-sleeping parents could hear. Perhaps he could have done this during the day—but his truancy would be reported quickly, and his parents were far less predictable awake than asleep.

This was the best way to go about it. He need only swallow his fear and go through with it, as long as it seemed to take.

After a dark span of isolation with nothing but his thumping heartbeat, his watch finally lit up with the proper time. His parents would be snared deep in their dreams now.

He drew in a long breath to calm his nerves before he surveyed the garage.

"Constantine?" he whispered. There was no reply.

He lit up his watch face again, using it as a rather poor torch, but his brother was still beyond sight. Another minute or two wouldn't hurt if it was necessary for Constantine to check his supplies or head over as stealthily as possible.

But two minutes came and went, and Zacharias had no choice but to step back towards the house. Had Constantine fallen asleep after all? He'd have to be woken both quickly and silently...

The elder brother crept back to the bedroom. Across the hall, his father's snoring went on—if a little quieter—so he stepped into his own room with quiet confidence.

The bed was empty, covers cast away.

Taken aback, Zacharias froze before giving the bed a cursory inspection. Constantine wasn't hiding there. A check of the closet found no backpack, either.

So he had left the bedroom as planned. Perhaps he'd only had to stop at the toilet?

Zacharias checked both of the appropriate rooms, but neither was occupied. The rest of the house was as empty as it seemed.

Constantine must have gone out the wrong door, then. There was nowhere else for him to be but the master bedroom, but by no means would he have gone in there.

Picking up his pace, Zacharias left through the side door. He couldn't help but feel a pleasant tingle in the back of his neck as it shut behind him—but the celebration needed to wait. It would not be a successful escape until he and Constantine were much farther away.

After making sure no one was around to see, Zacharias stepped over the rather pitiful front lawn and did another sweep of the area. Not a single silhouette, which would have been excellent if Constantine were by his side.

"Brother?" he called quietly.

Surely the boy hadn't been jittery enough to find himself going out the back door? If so, he would have quickly turned around. Was he now waiting at the side door, then, having just missed his brother in passing?

Trying to reign in his quick breathing, Zacharias hurried back to the side door and opened it. He couldn't make out anyone on the other side, but that was hardly astonishing in the lack of light.

"Constantine?"

No response. For goodness' sake, how long was he going to have to chase his brother in circles before they would actually leave?

"Eh?!"

Zacharias froze as the cry from outside hit his ears. It was too short to properly recognise, but it did sound like a boy. It hadn't come from the garage, either.

Shutting the door once again, he sped towards the front and paused. The voice... had been to the north.

He hurried that way, throwing a second look at every shadow that could have possibly been a human being, until he had gone past his own house and several others.

"Constantine?"

Still no sign of him. Had he been mistaken? Had the voice been in the other direction after all?

A park stood just a bit further ahead. As it would make a good rest stop, Zacharias decided to investigate it before changing course too hastily.

The scrap of a park was but a short trail with a few ragged trees. If memory served, a handful of nice benches were farther in by a fast-flowing creek—but he didn't have to look that far before he located his brother at the edge of a lamppost's glow.

His face roughly the colour of rainclouds, Constantine slumped towards the lamppost, his legs splayed across the grass, his finger-marked neck bent, and his body faintly jostling as a ragamuffin struggled to remove his backpack.

The urchin boy sensed the newcomer almost immediately, his eyes flaring wide in alarm before he released the shoulder strap, letting the corpse collapse to the ground.

Precisely what happened next was entirely lost to Zacharias as he was swept forward by a red gust of rage.


	5. Working Towards the Future

The professor smiled. "As Miss Mystere would say, puzzles can be very good for stress relief."

Suppressing a sigh, Barnham swirled his teacup in his hand. "It wasn't a particularly stressful day of work, I assure you."

Luke folded his arms, smiling. "Still—" He cut off, blinking. "Did you hear that?"

"I'm afraid not." Layton set his cup down and listened.

"Oh! I felt something just now..." Flora ducked to the side of the table for a moment. After a moment of shuffling, she resurfaced with something in her arms.

"Meow."

Luke, mouth hanging open, watched the cat flick her tail. "Eve! I-it _has _been a while, but..."

Taken aback, Barnham turned at the cat's name and took a moment to register that it was, in fact, the cat.

"What brings you all the way over here?" Layton poured a bit of cream into an empty teacup. "Is Espella on her way?"

Eve meowed, shifting to make herself comfortable in Flora's arms and sniffing at the cup of cream.

"Espella isn't coming at the moment, no," Luke translated. Folding his arms, he frowned in puzzlement. "But you say you're here for someone else? Who?"

Eve just purred a little, rubbing her chin on Flora's arm before hopping down to the floor. Without a sound, she darted to the staircase and bounded out of sight.

Layton's gaze lingered after her for a moment before he took his teacup into his hands again. "How curious..."

"Say, Mr Barnham?" Luke tilted the brim of his hat upward with a grin. "Where's Constantine?"

Barnham frowned, shutting his eyes. "He must still be in our room. Ah—"

He caught Luke and Flora exchanging a mischievous glance before slamming his fist on the table. "Constantine's personal life is none of your concern!"

"Y-yes, of course, Mr Barnham!" Luke stammered, although he looked ready to burst out giggling the next time he caught Flora's eye.

With a sigh, Barnham finished off his tea, thanked the professor, and announced his retirement to his room for the night. By the time he had washed up, Constantine and Eve were both curled up in a corner of the room, the former's chin resting on the latter's shoulder. Despite clearly being asleep, they both looked quite happy.

But of course. Why wouldn't they? They had found companionship. Just as he hoped to accrue with a certain other Eve... Someday...

Barnham pushed his face into his pillow. He was _not_ going to be jealous of his dog! R-rather, his faithful friend.

Words aside, he had no reason to be upset. That other sort of relationship was as irrelevant to a knight as the Grand Grimoire to modern court proceedings. Of course, technically speaking, he was no longer a knight... But he was at heart, blast it!

Suddenly feeling exposed without his armour, he pulled his sheets up over him.

What was he even doing out here? He belonged in Labyrinthia—but even there, he would not be Inquisitor Barnham. There was no longer any need for that, and that was certainly a good thing for the town. For him... it would also have to be. There was no changing it, after all.

He was truly starting to miss the townsfolk, though. It had been nice to see Eve's familiar face, as feline as it may have been. Surely he could at least go back for a bit, to see if all those people he had sworn his life to protect were, in fact, still well.

...No. Not yet. He would go back, surely—but not yet. He had left for a reason, and he was going to see it through.

He stared at his clenched fist for a while before it became clear he wasn't nearly as tired as he had expected himself to be. If he could not sleep, he may as well put his time to good use.

Throwing on a shirt, he slipped over to the house's computer and tried to recall how to use it properly. 'Twas not a difficult matter. He would only need to look into a few searches; there may not have been much information available, but he would scrutinise every last bit of it if it put him closer to his goal.

The glow of the screen in the dark hurt his eyes a bit, but he pushed through and found his way to the search engine soon enough. Poking at the keys one by one, he got about halfway through his query before something warm and soft leaned against his ankle. A glance down revealed Constantine, smiling up at his master, who could hardly keep himself from smiling back.

"You wouldn't have me charge into battle alone, would you, valiant knight?"

He scratched behind Constantine's ears and turned back to the computer.

Pecking away at the keyboard and navigating results was not a terribly difficult battle, but it was tiring nonetheless.

He still came upon much more than he had bargained for pertaining to the case of a certain Colin Bristow.

* * *

"You seem more than a little preoccupied. Might I ask what's on your mind?"

Barnham met the professor's gaze before setting his cup of morning tea on its saucer. "This may seem an odd question, but you do seem to be an authority on solving mysteries." He shut his eyes. "What would you consider to be the best way to investigate a murder eleven years past?"

Layton put his hand to his chin. "I take it you're referring to some sort of cold case?"

Barnham nodded.

"Hmm." The professor shut his eyes for a moment before gesticulating as he spoke. "I'm afraid you may not have the authority to do much, since the post of Inquisitor does not exist in this world. However, I'm sure you'll be listened to if you have something to contribute to the investigation. Is that the case?"

"I can certainly contribute testimony, although I doubt it would amount to much. What sort of authority do you think I would need to have a more direct hand in investigating?"

Layton stroked his chin. "I don't believe it would be anything you could come upon very quickly." He smiled. "I do have a friend or two in the force with whom I could consult. I still doubt you'd be given access to the case immediately, but perhaps you could still investigate to some extent despite having no official involvement in law enforcement."

Barnham shut his eyes, bowing his head a bit. "If it is not too much trouble, I would request that you do so. I would be even further indebted to you, Sir Top Hat."

"It's no trouble at all, Mr Barnham. Not only do I have ample time today, I must admit I'm rather intrigued by the whole concept."

Barnham met his gaze again. "Very well. I shall share my progress with you if I am so lucky."

"Thank you. Now, shall we see what the good Inspector has to say?"

* * *

Barnham had to report back to the cafe before the professor had made much progress. His duty was to serve with a smile, however, and so he would do his best to push the issue to the back of his mind.

As he rang up another few milk teas, he looked over the seated patrons and glanced back at Ms Nguyen.

"Is there a women's school in the area?"

She thought for a moment before shaking her head. "Not that I know of." She cranked the sealing device until three full cups were covered with taut plastic circles. "Why?"

He handed the cups to the customer and thanked her for her business before turning back to his superior. "I had only noticed that the majority of our patrons today appear to be females of such an age."

Ms Nguyen just laughed in her chirpy, cackling way, leaving Barnham to peer at her before shaking his head and returning to business. The remainder of a soda put in a new cup to go, a bill dropped off, an order taken to the kitchen. A goodbye to the customer with the to-go drink as she left, an order rung up, a table to clean—

The to-go cup was sitting there, forgotten.

He paused, glancing out the window, but the young woman was nowhere in sight. After another moment's silence, he sped to the counter, retrieved a small drink tray, and wedged the cup into one of the spaces.

"Constantine!" Eyes darting about the room for other matters requiring his attention, he knelt to set the tray on the ground as his dog hurried towards him with a bark.

"Do you recall the customer who ordered this?"

Constantine sniffed at the cup. "Ruff! ...Ruff!" He circled the tray before chomping on the edge and lifting it up with a bit of strain.

"Good." Barnham lunged to the door and swung it open. "Go find her!"

With a muffled bark, Constantine charged out the door and pelted round the corner.

With a sigh of relief—the tiny knight could be trusted to help him fulfil his duty—he delivered another order to Ms Nguyen and set out to clean the table.

"Constantine's such a wonderful puppy," called Abby Milliner, who had brought a few of her girl friends today. "What kind is he?"

Barnham continued wiping off the table, although he did look up. "Kind, miss?"

"You know, breed?"

"Er... a fine one." Picking up the half-full tub of dirty dishes, he ran it back to the counter near the kitchen.

"You adopted him, then?"

"Indeed. Although that implies a certain dominance over him from the start... That was in fact not the case."

"Really?" Abby interlaced her fingers, sipping at her boba tea. "What was the case, then?"

Barnham let his brow furrow as he picked up an order of beef and broccoli and delivered it to another table.

"It's... a bit of a long story. I don't believe you'd find it terribly interesting." He scanned the restaurant, but nothing else appeared to be urgent. "Why the sudden interest, if I may ask?"

"Ah, well..." Abby pushed some hair under her headband. "You really seem to love your dog, and you appear a bit irritated today. I just thought talking about him might help cheer you up, is all."

Barnham lifted his hand, a washrag hanging off his extended finger. "Is... that so?"

After another short round of order-taking and delivery, he drifted back to Abby's table. "I do apologise if my demeanour today has unsettled you in any way, Miss Milliner."

"Not at all!" She spun her thick straw between her fingers, her gaze flitting away from his for a moment. "Did you, um, just wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"I'm afraid it's a bit deeper than that." As Abby still seemed quite interested, he went ahead. "I've discovered it may take some time longer for me to achieve a goal than I had initially thought."

After another round of tasks, including letting Constantine back into the building with an empty drink tray, he stopped at the same table again to refill the black-haired girl's water.

"Might I ask what kind of goal that is?" Abby started before he could leave.

With an exhale, he lowered the water pitcher in his hand. "I am pursuing a career as a prosecuting attorney; however, it may prove more difficult than anticipated considering my lack of higher education."

"A prosecutor?" Abby swirled her near-empty cup in her hand.

"Oh!" called a lone woman two tables down. "Don't they 'ave quite a few of those that flew through all their classes in 'alf the time you'd expect? Down in Germany?"

"Yes, I've heard of them!" added the girl whose cup he had just refilled. "Perhaps that could be a good path for you, Mr..."

"Barnham," Abby whispered.

"...Barnham?"

He paused. "It could be problematic that I know not a word of German."

"Um, excuse me?" shouted a young man at the other side of the restaurant. "Waiter?"

Barnham grimaced. "Rambling about my personal life rather than doing my job...!" He shook his head, stepping back. "I... do thank all of you ladies for your advice. I shall certainly look into it."

With that, he hurried to the insistent customer.


	6. Fleeing from the Past

Only a sharp cry from behind was able to pull Zacharias from the haze of adrenaline. He initially wasn't able to feel much beyond his own trembling and an unexplainable amount of heat, but his other senses returned. His hand lay still over his brother's neck; when he pulled back, two bloody fingerprints were left over Constantine's unresponsive carotid. The boy's face was frozen in a look of fear, even after his eyelids had been shut.

To his left lay the urchin, his nose shattered in a bloodied mess and his clothing even more torn than before, a substantial amount of blood having poured out of one slash into a small puddle. Another tear, farther up his chest, still harbored a chef's knife, now red from end to end.

Before Zacharias could take any of his own wounds into account, his brain registered precisely what that cry a moment ago had been:

"Oh dearie, dearie _me_...!"

It was then, as he craned his neck to view a certain former teacher of his from across the street, that things began to click into place.

Someone that knew him personally had found him hovering over a pair of dead bodies, one of which he had clearly murdered himself. And with the witness, the mixed blood spilt, and the prints left, there would be no way for him to escape punishment.

Except, of course, one.

Zacharias pushed himself to his feet, turned, and ran. The harder he pumped his legs, the less his limbs and chest ached, and the farther away he got.

_Just run. Run for your life. Run from everything. It's all you can do..._

The coast was in sight before it occurred to him that he might do a lot better for himself running _to_ some place. But nowhere was safe, not at this time of night, not when he had taken a life with his own hands, not when the only family in the town that cared for him was sitting dead and bloodstained in the park. But he had to go somewhere. Somewhere...

Without making a conscious decision, he found himself turning, and turning again, fleeing past the closed shops and into an estate. A left on the second road of the neighbourhood, and...

Though the shutters were closed, a light was on in the house, and no cars sat on the drive. Nearly losing his struggle for breath, Zacharias came up to the front door, tried not to fall over, and slammed a clean part of his fist into the doorbell. He could hear its deep tone faintly from where he stood shaking.

He... could not lean against the doorpost. The blood... was... He... had to keep standing tall... a while longer...

Swaying on his feet as the pang in his thigh grew stronger, he finally heard the door bolt click.

"Zacky-boy! What are—" Jessica cut off the moment the door opened and properly revealed him.

"Wh-What happened?!" Eyes flared, she stepped back, keeping the door open. "Come in. I'll call—"

Zacharias managed to hold his palm out. "Call... no one."

Grimacing, she helped him inside and shut the door. "Zacharias, if you're hurt, we need to call 999. Dad may be a doctor, but you know he's not here this week."

Zacharias shook his head, stopping in the entryway. "I'm fine, I assure you. I..." Head swimming, he shut his eyes, trying to figure out what to request. "May I... use your bath?"

Jessica sucked in a breath, looking over him. "O... Of course. I'm sure I can find you some clean clothes if you—" she looked down—"if you'd rather not go home."

"Thank you..."

She led him by the elbow to a tiled bathroom with a combination tub/shower.

"Extra towels are in the cabinet. And..." She folded her arms. "Take a shower instead, will you. I'm afraid you'd drown in the tub in your condition."

Zacharias nodded, stepping into the small room with another thanks and shutting the door. He did his best to turn on the shower and strip off his soiled clothes despite his badly shaking hands. Throwing the fabric in a pile on the far side of the tub, he stepped under the water—whatever temperature it was—and pulled the curtain closed.

After standing still for a minute to make sure he wouldn't collapse and hit his head, he determined that the water was, in fact, still quite cold. Shockingly so. But he could bear it—both to try dragging his rational mind back and to help seal any wounds.

He wasn't making much progress on the former, but he could at least try to figure out how much blood, if any, was his own. Although his head and torso were throbbing more than ever, the only distinct wound was a short, slashing stab at his thigh. He vaguely remembered the urchin trying to take his knife—it must have ultimately been a failure, but the struggle still sent the blade into his leg. It wasn't bleeding terribly badly. Nothing too serious, then...?

He was still quaking, but some of it may have been the water temperature. He couldn't be certain.

Taking a shaky but deep breath, he angled his leg to let the water run over the wound.

"Grrrangh!" Slamming a palm into the wall before he could buckle over, he gritted his teeth as the freezing water thumped at the back of his head and dripped down his chin.

"Zacharias!"

"I-I am fine!" He breathed for a few moments before trying to stand up straight again. "It's fine. I-I'll be finished in another minute."

He could hear Jessica let out a low breath on the other side of the door. "I swear, Zack, you'd better not be hiding anything serious from me! Am I going to have to come in there and give you a once-over myself?"

He groaned. "You needn't act indecent for my sake..."

She stomped on the ground. "Decency be damned! If you need an ambulance, I'm calling an ambulance!"

"I do not need an ambulance!" he roared.

Jessica let out a long sigh but took an audible step back. Apparently there would be no more commentary for the time being.

Zacharias scrubbed away any blood he could perceive before shutting off the mildly warm water and getting a turquoise-and-white striped towel.

"I'm going to grab some clothes now, all right? Don't beat yourself up worse in there while I'm gone."

Eyelids heavy, he didn't manage a response before her footsteps thumped away.

* * *

Several minutes later, Zacharias sat on the couch in the main room, slumped to rest his elbows on his knees as he stared straight ahead. The mounted television droned on just above a carved wood sign of the family name, painted an appropriate shade of red.

Jessica pulled an open history textbook off the coffee table and walked back out of his line of sight.

"I've already got a kettle going if you want any tea."

He couldn't break his stare. "...Sure."

"Any preferences?"

He remained silent.

A few things in the kitchen behind him clanked before Jessica took a seat next to him. "Are you planning to fall asleep on me, or do you want to talk about it?"

"...I'd like to talk about it."

He fell silent again.

She sighed and went back in the kitchen. "Take as long as you need, I guess. It doesn't look like it was pretty."

The stab in his leg throbbed, but he continued staring ahead until she came back with a tea set and a pair of pills. She set the pills in front of him and poured a cup to place beside it.

"Rouge family recipe," she said. "Good for stress—and, of course, good-tasting."

Zacharias fingered the cup, managing to turn his stare to its reddish contents instead. After a while, he took a sip. Once it had cooled down enough, he swallowed the pain relief pills with it.

"You... may want to look at the wound," he got out. Thankful that a pair of shorts had been his best match, he pulled up the leg just enough to reveal the gash.

Jessica blanched. "Wh... Wh..."

She slammed her hands on the coffee table, rattling the tea set, with a scowl of rage. "Which one of them did this to you?!"

He was silent for long enough she swore under her breath and hurried somewhere out of his range of sight. "I can dress it, at least..."

Zacharias swallowed. "No hospital, though."

"I get it, I get it." She sighed. "We... have to do something more about this, Zack. I know you're afraid to call people, but... But this? It's even more out of hand than I thought!"

Zacharias took another draught of his tea while she knelt at his injured side with a first-aid kit.

"...Actually, we were going to flee tonight."

Somehow the statement set his hand shaking again to the point he had to set the cup down.

Jessica paused, gauze in hand. "That... sounds good." Once she had enough bandage wrapped around his leg, she tried to tear the gauze without luck. Swiftly withdrawing a pocket knife and spinning it in her hand, she slit the fabric and put the rest of the roll back.

"So then, how did this..." Her brow furrowed. "What exactly happened?"

She stood abruptly, checking behind her before staring at Zacharias. "Where's Constantine? You wouldn't leave him behind if your life depended on it...!"

Zacharias continued staring into his teacup.

"Wait... Z-Zack, was that the only wound you had? Where—Where did the rest of that blood come from...?" Even from the corner of his eye, he could tell she was trembling. "Zacharias...! Where's Constantine?!"

He took a minute trying to piece it together for her—but once he found the words, they became real. Before he could vocalise any of them, he was wailing.

Jessica froze for a minute. "Oh my God..." She charged for the counter behind him. "That's it! I'm calling the police!"

"_No!_" Zacharias spun and seized her wrist before she could get to the phone. "You mustn't!" He clamped down on her wrist as hard as he could without breaking it, as if that would be enough to convince her.

"Zacharias, please." On the verge of tears herself, she pushed some wet hair out of his face. "I know you're not thinking clearly right now. But, please, for his sake—"

"I said no!" He tugged her in his direction, nearly ramming her into the couch back. "Y-you can't... You can't..."

Grimacing, she squeezed her eyes shut. Finally she came around to sit on the couch, and he let go of her wrist.

"It... can wait, if that's how it has to be." She sniffed, twisting a lock of her hair in her hand. "You're free to stay here as long as you need..." She gripped her elbows, staring down at the table.

"...claimed to see a young man named Zacharias Barnham—"

Zacharias's pulse battered his ears as he snapped his gaze to the television. A dim shot of the park was underlined with a breaking news banner, and his most recent school photo graced the screen's corner.

"—strangling the second victim. The suspect then fled the scene, heading east.

"If you have any information on the incident, please report it immediately."

Jessica rose to her feet, staring at the television. Although the screen changed to the weather, the banner at the bottom continued to report the double homicide.

Zacharias tensed, his tears beginning to dry as panic rose in his throat.

"What—" Jessica turned to him—"was that all about?"

He stood to meet her gaze before spinning and bolting for the door. He flung it open and pelted outside, feet nearly slipping on the pavement.

How had he thought for one moment he would be safe? Not even here. Not after what he had done.

"Zacharias!"

Jessica's voice was already distant, and he did not stop.


	7. Face the Consequences

Once the dinner rush subsided, Barnham took off, leaving Ms Nguyen to cover the slow night shift by herself as usual. Somewhat less usual was the pace at which he left—Constantine was having a bit of trouble keeping up tonight.

Layton would have spent most of the day looking into the murder. Barnham partly wished the professor hadn't dug too deep, but it would be foolish not to accept any assistance he was offered.

_If Sir Top Hat would rather not host a murderer, then let him cast me out by all means. Just let him hand over the information I need first._

He came up to the house and knocked before entering. Most of the lights were off—it got rather dark when the windows were blinded, but there was no need to waste electricity—but the dinner table was set for two. Layton stood at the doorway to the kitchen, looking up from the book in his hands.

"Mr Barnham. Welcome back. I'll fetch dinner."

Barnham stepped to his usual seat and pulled the chair out without seating himself. "Where are Luke and Miss Flora?"

"They've already eaten and are entertaining themselves upstairs," Layton called from beyond his field of vision. "I felt dinner might be the best time for us to discuss a few matters."

He stepped back into the dining room, setting two bowls of stew at the appropriate places. They both sat, although Barnham rested his chin against his hands rather than taking a spoon.

"You are speaking, of course, about the case of Colin Bristow and Constantine Barnham?" he said.

The professor nodded. "I'm afraid I wasn't able to get as much information as I had hoped for, but between the two of us, we may be able to piece much of the puzzle together."

He tipped the brim of his hat down, obscuring his eyes. "I must admit I had been painfully curious as to what would make an intelligent young man throw away both his past and his future, but I did not feel it was my place to ask nor to make assumptions. However—" he straightened his hat—"since you have asked for my assistance in resolving the manner, I ask for yours in return. I shall tell you everything I know about the incident, and you will do likewise. Does this sound reasonable to you?"

"Yes." Barnham shut his eyes. Whatever the professor's ultimate reaction would be, the information would be shared. "As you say you have been unable to find much, you may go first."

"Very well." He folded his arms. "I was able to speak with Inspector Chelmey, but I'm afraid his lack of involvement in the case when it was active has prevented him from having much authority over its records. I don't believe he has any intention of pulling more strings unless it proves useful to him personally. He has informed me that he has enough cases to investigate already without looking into anything irrelevant."

Barnham's expression remained solemn as he sat silently, ignoring the smell of the stew.

Layton smiled. "Constable Barton, on the other hand, has informed me that he was somewhat familiar with the case. Although it has been considered solved in every aspect but the suspect's arrest, there were still a few unsettling points."

Barnham's eyes flicked open.

"For one, no convincing motive was established. Additionally, no reason was given for the difference in cause of death between the victims. What I believe is of most interest to you, however, is the result of... Constantine's autopsy. His time of death was several hours before Colin's."

Barnham flinched back. "What?!"

"Yet the key witness stated that they had seen you strangling him not long after Colin was killed. The issue came under debate but was never definitively resolved."

Layton at last reached for his spoon. "I'm afraid that's all of the information I was able to obtain. May I have your report now?"

"O-of course..." Barnham took a moment to straighten himself out before beginning. "I can resolve the most glaring contradiction immediately. As you may imagine, I did not kill Constantine myself. Ms. Primstone must have mistaken my checking his pulse for an attack." He let out a breath. "But you're certain he had been dead for hours?"

"Yes. Does that raise an issue?"

He nodded. "He... couldn't have even left the house by then. Or... I suppose he could have. But for what reason?" He pounded his fist on the table. "Why would he go against our carefully-laid plans?"

Layton sipped at his cup. "What plans were these?"

Barnham let his eyes slip shut. "Plans... to escape our house."

He recounted that dreadful night to the point of reaching the park before a physical pang shot through his chest. Halting mid-sentence, he gripped the edge of the table, his spoon dropping to the floor with a thump.

"Mr Barnham! Are you all right?"

Unable to reign in his breathing long enough to reply, he sat there shaking as another jab went through his ribs.

Layton jumped to his feet, his chair scraping back on the rug. "Is it a heart attack?" His arm shot out towards the phone on the side table. "I'll call—"

"_No!_" Barnham seized his hand before a single number could be dialed. "You m-mustn't... call them...!"

Chest heaving, he had no choice but to watch the images flickering across his mind's eye—his brother's dead face, the blood swirling down Jessica's drain, the stab in his thigh, the wide slash across the urchin's stomach, dead eyes, dead eyes, dead eyes...

"I must ask you to control your breathing as best as you can." Layton's voice was somewhere behind him. "Deep breaths. As you are a knight of Labyrinthia, I have faith that you are able to do this."

Barnham struggled to follow the professor's instructions as cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

Was he, in fact, having a heart attack? Why on earth did he stop the man from calling an ambulance? Fool! Now he really _would_ die...!

_You mustn't You mustn't You mustn't You m—m-mustn't be caught, mustn't be caught_

_His hand locked around the door handle as he stood behind it trembling._

_Th-they're coming! But I... mustn't be caught...!_

"I wished to be _rid of these memories_!" Barnham roared, slamming his fist into the table with a crash.

It took him a moment of panting before he realised he had sent his hand straight down into his stew, breaking the bowl and letting the hot broth lap over his wrist. His breath stuttered again as he lifted his hand out of the mess, but he pulled in a lungful of air and let it back out. He looked to Layton silently before growling a sigh and using his napkin as best he could.

"I can take care of this," the professor said. "Please see to your hand in the meantime."

Barnham rose to his feet, examining his hand, which retained a sliver of the bowl. After a moment of silence, he stepped back.

"...Very well. C-Constantine would be more than happy enough to help you clean up."

"I-is everything all right?"

Barnham recognised Luke's voice before he looked over to the stairs. The boy was leaning halfway over the rail to peer their way, with Flora two steps above him.

"Yes, we're quite all right. Just a bit of an accident." Layton pushed his chair in. "We're finished down here if you'd rather be on the first floor with us."

_Finished, you say? I've hardly finished my story, but I suppose he does not consider me capable enough to continue speaking on the matter tonight. That, or he fears another breakdown, which could very well be a valid concern._

Barnham stepped into the washroom to tend to his hand—it was a shallow scratch, although it still stung like mad—and paused as warm water ran over his palms.

Was the professor trying to protect him, then?

He shut his eyes, letting his forearms rest on the sink.

_"Of course there's nothing wrong with you wanting to be a protector." Zacharias folded his arms. "But you can't protect _me_."_

_Constantine exclaimed, "What?! Why not?"_

_" 'Tis simple. I cannot protect you if I myself am being protected."_

Was that it? After all his years of being a protector of Labyrinthia, a hero, now he was merely one who needed protection? Was that truly the hopeful future that the Storyteller had promised, that everyone had striven for?

Was the end of the experiment a good thing at all?

His hand had stopped bleeding by the time he shut the water off and made use of the towel.

He could not let himself think that way. Inglorious as it may seem, this was reality—the truth—and any true knight would have the courage to face it. The present and the past both—he could not cower before them. That may have been the easy road, but such was no path for a knight at heart. He would face them, sword drawn, and battle till it was they that knelt trembling before him.

...Somehow.

At the present moment, there was nothing more for him to do than assist the professor in cleaning up. After that, he would try to reason out how the new information on the cold case could possibly fit with what occurred. And after that...

_I admit it. I want desperately to return to Labyrinthia, shadow of its old self as it may be. I need to return for... several reasons._

But only if it would not delay his battle for the truth of the past.


	8. Avoid the Consequences

A small hotel a few blocks from the shore was closed for major renovations. A chain-link fence and several signs marked it off as a hazardous area. Two cranes squatted at opposite corners, one of them beneath a gaping, tarp-covered area on the sixth floor of the building.

Construction workers were normally on-site during the day, but not at night—nor would they be here tomorrow. Only one company did any construction work in this town, and a more urgent repair job farther inland would put this project on hold for at least another few days. And since the interior was gutted, security wasn't a chief concern, either.

For the first time in his life, Zacharias was truly thankful for his father's occupation and less-than-private work schedule.

After checking one more time for anyone watching, he threw himself at the fence and scrambled up as fast as he could. He dropped to the other side rather unceremoniously. Steadying himself and trying to wipe some of the moist dirt off his shorts, he surveyed the area again and hurried for the front door. Or rather, the front doorway. Apparently the fancier new door had yet to come in, and some dismantling crew had gotten a bit excited. He could hardly complain.

Hurtling inside, he panted and came to a stop, his footsteps still echoing for a moment. Aside from a distant section of carpet that must have continued to meet the hotel's standards, the whole area was bare. Even the ceiling lights had been ripped out, some circles of metal and exposed wires hanging in their place. Sawdust and nails were scattered and occasionally piled across the bare, discoloured cement of the floor.

He could make out a far wall and a few steps of the hallway beyond, but nothing farther. With an open door behind him, it wasn't yet safe enough to use his torch.

_Still not safe. Still not safe._

His breath hitched as he checked behind him and hurried towards the hall. Only when he stumbled over some hidden piece of something on the floor did he take his torch from his bookbag and turn it on. A thin piece of particle board had been the culprit.

Resisting the urge to check behind him, he hurried ahead to the stairs and lift. The latter definitely wasn't in use, and he had no idea how to get into the shaft. The stairs would be good enough.

The intact carpet on the steps helped him speed to the third floor. Was it far up enough? Was anything enough? No floor would be safe if they really wanted to search the place for him. But perhaps they wouldn't. And if they did, one of the cranes was directly outside a room window. It wouldn't be easy to get down, but that just put another obstacle in the way of his hypothetical pursuers.

All of the doors and door handles were intact but deactivated. The rooms had stripped-down floors and furniture pushed up against any wall where they wouldn't get in the way. There were bed frames, but no mattresses. The beige, houndstooth-patterned couches, however, were more than good enough.

Zacharias picked one of the corner rooms with the crane looming outside of the window. The glass was still present, but so were the sheer curtains; he wouldn't be noticed if he didn't light the place up. He let the door click shut behind him, unlocked the window, and collapsed on the couch. The loud thump he made startled him, but he crossed his arms in front of his chest and tried to shut his eyes. Relatively speaking, he was safe now. Safe and exhausted. After everything that had happened in—what? Less than an hour?—he had every right to be.

The adrenaline finally began to ebb, the shaking in his limbs fading. His stab wound sent jolts of pain across his leg no matter what he tried, and any movement sent his arms and torso throbbing. He had no energy left. All had been drained. He was lying there helpless, hoping that this would provide him with some recovery from the night's events.

The injuries would heal well enough, given time. He didn't know how long he could afford to spend here. Honestly, he wouldn't be comfortable staying another night. It might become too obvious where he had taken shelter. Running more would probably exacerbate his injuries, but what choice did he have? It was far too late to surrender for what he had done.

For murdering another boy.

He buried his face in the upright cushion beside him as his breathing shook.

Even if he couldn't recall the whole fight, he had certainly killed that boy with his own hands. The knife he'd had was the murder weapon, he had been enraged at the boy before losing hold of himself, and the boy's blood was sprayed over his now-discarded clothes. A few more glimpses of the struggle itself had come back to him over the next few minutes. The counterstrike that drove the knife into his own thigh. The smell and heat of the first blood that hit his face. The fabric of the boy's shirt ripping as he drove the knife deeper, deeper, deeper into the stomach beneath it.

Once again, Zacharias couldn't stop shaking.

The urchin had killed his brother and had been killed in return. It seemed... fair, didn't it? Of all reasons, the urchin had murdered Constantine to take his supplies. He must have been a horrendously greedy little ragamuffin. Even if he really needed the things in the bag, strangling an innocent boy wasn't a valid means for any end.

But was stabbing an urchin to death really any better?

Shivering, Zacharias shuffled himself more tightly into the corner of the couch, his breath warming the fabric against his face.

If that boy had indeed deserved death, did Zacharias deserve it now? Their motives for murder had been different as sword and shield, but he had still killed a human being. Someone like him. Someone, for all he knew, who had also fled his parents' home and was trying to stay alive—just like Zacharias was right now...

The urchin needed to be punished, but this? This was not the retribution assigned to him by the powers that be. It was only Zacharias's choice. Not justice. Just revenge. He had killed a boy, and not even for a noble purpose. Only from rage and spite and grief.

Why was he hiding now? Did he think he deserved to evade his judgement? If he had been so dedicated to bringing the boy his punishment, shouldn't he have been just as strict regarding his own fate? Why should he try to escape what he had wished upon another? He had no right. He had no excuse.

He couldn't keep this up, this running. It would never work out in the end. It was him against every citizen and authority in the town—he would be caught and dealt with no matter how hard he tried.

Pulling himself away from the warmth of the couch, he rose wobbily to his feet and walked to the door, laying his palm on the cool handle.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to turn himself in. All he had to do was open the door, walk outside, and wait to be found. And then what? Arrest. Surely not execution, at his age. Life in prison? It could be possible. But—

But...

But what if it wasn't like that? What if he only had to serve a few years? What if he got out with a fine or something on plea of insanity and—and...

...was immediately returned to his parents?

The skin on his knuckles was a pale white as he clung to the door handle for dear life.

_Just open it._

Was there... was there some noise in the hall just now? Police? His father?

_Open the door. Just do it. Get what you deserve...!_

Shaking, he continued to grip the handle but stayed frozen in place.

_Open the door! Don't you care at all for the word of the law? Turn yourself in! Open the door!_

_Open the door, open the door, OPEN THE DOOR!_

His hand only moved when he slid down to his knees sobbing silently.

It was worthless. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He was far too afraid. Worthless, worthless...

The entire thing was worthless. All the preparation and hope for a bright morning where he and Constantine were free—and now he was anything but, and his brother was dead.

He crawled to the tiny suit closet and shut himself inside when his crying got too loud.

Constantine was dead. Strangled. Didn't that take a fair amount of time? Had he struggled? Had he been too startled and afraid to do so? Had he fought his hardest, only to be overcome? What were his last thoughts? Fear of his oncoming death? Despair at his inability to escape with his brother, whom he trusted to protect him? Or just overwhelming pain as the fingers dug into his throat?

_How could I have failed him so terribly?_

The upcoming dawn could be the brightest England had ever had, with nary a cloud in the sky, but it would be just as worthless. The plan had failed. Zacharias would never spend another day with his little brother. They wouldn't find a new home, they wouldn't go on with their schooling, find jobs, find wives, make their own families that would be so, _so_ much better than their old one... Never even eat another meal together, run another race, have another scuffle... Nothing. No more, of any of it. None of the big hopes, and none of the little ones. A new but no less terrifying life for Zacharias, and no life at all for Constantine.

_How could I let it come to this? Why would anyone want to harm Constantine? Why would I want to murder a boy? Why did any of this happen...? This isn't fair!  
_

After he had cried himself to further exhaustion, he pulled himself back to his feet with some difficulty and slid the closet door open. No one in the room, at least. Was the hall empty after all...?

He went straight over to check; somehow that failed to trigger any alarms in his head. There wasn't enough power to run them anymore, it seemed.

He pulled the handle down and opened the door silently, peering out for a bit without using his torch.

Something rustled off to the right. Tensing, he pointed his torch in that direction and suddenly let it blaze. If nothing else, he could try to blind the—

The cat. A rather large tabby cat, sniffing around the hall. It hissed at the light, but Zacharias flicked the torch off and nearly slammed the door shut.

He swore he wouldn't own a cat for as long as he lived.


	9. A Triumphant Return

A very limited number of options would allow Barnham to investigate the cold case further. He could try to accrue his own contacts in Scotland Yard, but that was a bit too dangerous, especially being as suspicious of an outsider as he was. If he was going to rely on Layton's contact, he would have to make it worth the inspector's while by linking the case to a current incident. There were, of course, no such cases that relied on the distant, isolated murders of Colin Bristow and Constantine Barnham, and he was hardly going to create some copycat crime himself. Even if he could gather the funds to hire some sort of great thief to take the relevant files, that was no less out of the question.

And so only one valid choice remained. Although it would take far more time than he felt he had the patience for, it would pay off in other ways as well.

He had no qualms, after all, about once again donning the title of knight of the court.

An array of educational requirements formed obstacles in his path, but it was no matter. He would take on all comers till he rightfully earned the title of barrister and took the case with his own authorised hands.

As it turned out, one of the first steps he was compelled to take was by correspondence—digital rather than paper, but unbound by location. He could easily work and study without time conflicts. He could also, theoretically, study from somewhere else entirely.

After some negotiation with Ms Nguyen and the receipt of a newsletter from far beyond London, he would do just that.

"We have plans to visit in another month," Layton said over tea. "Perhaps it would be more convenient for you to wait until then?"

Barnham gave a single, solemn shake of his head and pushed his palm out to the side. "I shall go immediately."

There were certain preparations to be made before a month's time, after all.

"Very well. May your travel there be smooth." The professor smiled. "You are, of course, welcome to return to the guest room anytime."

"Thank you. At this point, I have every intention of doing so."

Luke rearranged his teacup on its saucer. "So the next time we'll meet will be in Labyrinthia?"

Barnham glanced behind him at his luggage. " 'Tis correct. May you all stay well whilst we are apart."

* * *

There were plenty of studies to pursue and affairs to handle in Labyrinthia, but no thoughts of these entered Barnham's mind as he rode through the gate in full armour on his white steed.

He had to admit the trip to Labyrinthia had no impact on his actual goals. Home was home, however. Despite many earlier years outside it and the hospitality of the professor, this place would always be his true place of residence.

The knights still saluted as he went past. Miss Muffet and a few of her acquaintances still swooned. Bardly was still frequenting the fountain at the center of town, although Birdly had a wider audience. Lettie still zoomed about the town, having to snap up letters that flew out her satchel when she sped off suddenly. A certain individual was presumably still making trouble, as he had added a golden, jewelled fringe to his boots, making his gaudy outfit even more ridiculous.

Even with regained memories and a permanently available gate, few seemed to have altered their usual routines. But why else stay in Labyrinthia? If they were satisfied with their new lives, there was no reason to change them.

Perhaps that certain individual could afford to change his, but that was another story altogether.

Barnham dismounted the horse at the appropriate place, giving him a bit of sugar for his trouble before resuming on foot. A trip to the former Inquisitor's Hall let him drop off his helmet and cape, but no Lady Darklaw was in sight. Perhaps she was at home? He couldn't possibly approach her at her own house—that would be far too forward. Wouldn't it?

Shaking his head, he left the hall and spent a bit of time catching up with the townsfolk. For the most part, they were quite a bit more interested in hearing about his own life than enlightening him about theirs. He hated to disappoint, but things just didn't move as quickly as he'd like in the outside world.

Eventually he found himself at the tavern entrance. He checked behind him, as if he expected Lady Darklaw to appear in time to catch him entering, before he shook it off and stepped inside.

The middle of the day was presumably not a great time of business for a tavern. Only Cutter, engaged with a small block of marble and a smartphone displaying someone's picture, sat at a table. The only other person in the room was Rouge, behind the bar.

"Well, if it isn't Zacky-boy." She folded her arms with a half-smile and walked out into the main area. "What brings you here? I thought you were out in the real world kicking butt and taking names."

"I don't intend to slack off during my time here, I assure you," Barnham said. "But if I can complete part of my task just as well here as in London, I've no reason not to return to Labyrinthia."

She smirked. "What about that whole 'adjusting to the modern world' thing?"

"It's... not as if they speak a completely different language beyond the gate. I believe I have enough of a handle on things already. Besides, there's a bit of the modern world here in Labyrinthia now, is there not?"

He glanced back at Cutter with that phone to prove his point but paused. Had that finished statue been there earlier?

"Oh, go on and admit it," Rouge said, calling his attention back. "You just wanted to come back home, didn't you? You softy."

Barnham shut his eyes and remained silent for a span.

"Fine, fine. So why the tavern in particular? Just thought you'd stop by?"

He opened his eyes again. " 'Twas not an entirely conscious decision. It is nice to see you well, however. I take it you've decided to remain working here?"

"Yup. Nowhere else I'd rather be." She laughed a little. "Do you remember the reason I wanted to be a doctor way back when? 'To help people.' Because the only way to help anyone is to save them on the operating table, right?" She shakes her head. "I never would have considered a job like this before, but it's still everything I wanted. And I make enough to get by. That certainly helps."

"I suppose you didn't have much say in what part you'd play in the Story, then?" He paused. "If I may ask... Why did you sign up for Project Labyrinthia at all? If I recall correctly, you arrived not long after I did, and I don't imagine much could have transpired in such little time." He took a deep breath, looking her in the eye. "I don't suppose my last visit brought you too much difficulty to bear?"

She snorted. "Of course not. No one ever knew that visit had happened. They didn't manage to track you to the house, and, even if they did, I'd burned your old clothes and flushed the ashes down the toilet. Wiped any prints and drowned the tub in bleach, too."

Barnham found himself speechless for a moment. Rouge was certainly a criminal mind, if put to better use than most.

"What, then?" he finally said. "If it did not concern that, what could have driven you here?"

"You mean the great Inquisitor Barnham hasn't figured it out? I thought it was obvious." She leaned her elbows against the bar and said:

"I followed you here."

Barnham flinched back. "What?! That can't be true!" He tried to straighten himself out. "Firstly, I made every effort to conceal myself during my flight, and despite remaining watchful, I never saw a trace of you."

Her eyebrows drew upwards a bit before she laughed. "Is that so? You really didn't find it suspicious at all that someone had left a full meal just outside an abandoned construction site?"

Barnham lifted his arm for cover again as he cringed. "Impossible! I...!"

Gritting his teeth, he cradled his forehead in his palm. "I'm not very good at hiding, am I?"

She smirked. "Not from anyone who knows you." Flicking a speck of dust off the counter, she added, "If it helps, I did lose track of you a few days after that. Managed to pick up the scent later, though."

Barnham stood solemnly, eyes shut. "You... went to such lengths... for my sake? Even to Labyrinthia?"

"Well, somebody had to look after you." She folded her arms. "Even if the Storyteller was giving you a new identity and a place to hide, you were still a wanted criminal. Who knew what he'd do with you, or what the other participants would do? You needed at least one person on your side." She grinned. "I guess I didn't have much to worry about after all, but that's all right. I don't regret it."

He fell silent again, only the sounds of wood creaking and Cutter chiseling away echoing through the tavern.

"I... am sorry that I ever doubted you back then," said Barnham. "And that I forgot about us, to the point of..." He trailed off.

"You couldn't help forgetting, you know. I can't hold that against you." She smirked. "So you've got your eye on a different girl. I'm a grown woman. I can handle it."

"I—" he slammed his fist down on the table in front of him—"I said no such thing!"

Rouge laughed. "You don't have to say it. And, you know, you're not coworkers anymore. Go ahead already."

"I... I shall be taking my leave now."

As Rouge laughed, he beat a hasty retreat towards the door until Cutter's table caught his eye again. Five more statues, some of strangers and some of Labyrinthians. Cutter himself was browsing through photos on his phone that were clearly taken in town, but taken poorly.

"Are those candid photographs?"

Cutter looked up from his phone. "Yeah. Got a friend of mine to go about takin' 'em. Really helpful when people don't wanna pose for me."

He paused at a picture of Lady Darklaw that clearly caught Barnham's eye.

"You want me to carve one from this?"

Barnham flinched before drawing his sword. "There is absolutely no need to do such a thing!"

"It ain't any trouble, Mr Barnham." He finished in a few entrancing moments and offered the sculpture to Barnham.

"I shan't take that."

"Aw, come on. I don't have room for _all _of these."

After a moment of standing his ground, Barnham took the statue and silently handed it off to Constantine.

* * *

"Certainly!" Mrs Eclaire cried. "There's plenty of room for you! Are you back in Labyrinthia for good, then?"

Barnham shook his head. "I must return to London eventually, but 'twill be a while before that is necessary."

"Oh, all right. It'll be nice to have another apprentice in the meantime. You _are_ serious about baking?"

He shut his eyes, holding up a hand with loosely curled fingers. "Of course. There is something in particular I seek to bake once I have the skill."

Mrs Eclaire grinned. "How could I say no to that?" She poured a bit of milk into her stirring bowl. "Go on upstairs. Espella can help you get situated."

"Thank you, milady."

He went up a storey to find Espella studying. Her gaze snapped up from her book at his approach. "Oh! Inquisitor Barnham..."

" 'Tis but 'Mr Barnham' now," he said with a shake of the head. "I don't mean to interrupt your studies..."

"Oh, it's no problem. I could use a break, anyway." She marked her spot and set the book on her bed. "What can I help you with?"

"I'm going to be Mrs Eclaire's live-in apprentice. She said you would help me get settled here."

"Really?" Espella's eyes widened as her hand went to her mouth. "Of course I'll help, but I have to say I never imagined you becoming a baker."

"As far as Labyrinthia is concerned, I'm afraid I am out of a job, after all."

"I see." She smiled. "Let's get you settled in, then."

As they found an appropriate space for him and began to set up a few things, Barnham glanced at Espella sideways.

"What was it you were studying?"

Espella scooted Constantine's bowl over to the foot of the bed. "Actually... I'm studying law." Placing a hand on her chest, she continued, "I'm not certain if I'll go through with it, but I'd really like to become a defender. I want to be there for people the way Mr Wright was there for me." She paused, tapping her cheek. "Rather... What was the modern term for 'defender' again?"

Barnham met her gaze. "I'm sure you will make an excellent defender, Miss Cantabella."

She smiled. "Thank you."


	10. A Chaotic Retreat

Zacharias opened the door to the silhouettes of his parents.

He could no longer sense his own heartbeat as he stared out at them. It was unmistakable, even with the only light coming from the hotel hall. He had been found. And there wouldn't be a chance of staying away from them if he was caught now.

Hyperventilating, he spun on his heel, leapt over the couch, and charged for the window.

"_Zacharias!_" His father's voice was lower and more threatening than usual.

Zacharias threw the window open and quickly located the crane. It was farther away than he had remembered, and the ground still waited a long distance below. Only a very brave man or a very foolish one would dare take the leap. Given the circumstances, he was clearly the latter.

With a shout, he sprung from the window pane, limbs flailing as he fell.

_Clang!_ His hand connected with the neck of the crane, and he swung his other arm around to hook the metal with his elbow. Panting, he kicked until his ankles crossed on the other side of the crane, locking him in place.

Okay. He had made the jump. He was that much closer to freedom...!

With another clang, the crane gave a violent shake, and he had to cling tighter to keep from being bucked off. As the wobbling died down, he searched rapidly for the source of the chaos—had the muddy ground given out? Had the crane itself?—but found it above him.

"_Zacharias!_"

Behind him, at the very tip of the crane, stood his father, face distorted with rage as he came down step by step.

Zacharias gasped and hurried to shuffle himself down the neck—

"_Zacharias!_"

Below him stood his mother, wide eyes glaring up at him as she bared her teeth. She stepped towards the low end of crane's neck as his father continued to approach from above.

Which way? Which way? Down, and his mother would catch him. Up, and his father would catch him. It wasn't as if he could fly away, either.

Which way? Up? Down? What was he supposed to do?

What did it matter? It was over. He was caught. Nowhere left to run. Only his punishment, at the hands of his parents. After everything, after his own brother's death, nothing would come of it. Only more pain.

Before he realized it, he had let go of the crane. It took another second for his right ankle to slide off the top, but it was too late to stop now. For a moment, he floated, disconnected from it all. Then the cold wind came, yanking his clothes towards the sky as he plummeted. Even when he shouted, the air snatched the sound away from him, and he heard only the wind rushing past his ears until he struck the ground.

Mud. Cold mud. It squelched away from him as he hit it but quickly encroached again. Sucking his hands and feet down, creeping all round him as his mother and father approached from both sides.

"_Zacharias!_"

* * *

He awoke with a gasp, his heart hammering away at his ribs and sweat matting the hair at his temples. He would have leapt to his feet if he had the ability to move at all.

What happened? Where was he? His parents... His parents!

Finally he regained control over his limbs and pushed himself off the ground, just enough to take a good look around. Or, as good a look as he could get in the dim light. It would have been pitch-black if it weren't for the cloudy porthole window to his right.

He had left the hotel a while ago, of course. Now he sat in the corner of the storeroom of a restaurant that hadn't been properly locked up a few nights before. The room was perpetually cluttered; even a minor rearrangement of rarely used shelving was enough to conceal him without drawing any attention. Employees only ever came in for a moment to snatch some batter or fish before hurrying back out. It was rather cold, after all.

Certainly too cold for a boy in shorts without a coat. He had to leave soon. If and when someone came to restock this place, he couldn't depend on them to leave him be, even if it seemed likely. And besides, this was far more of a hiding place than a shelter. He hadn't eaten a thing—one, for fear of being caught, but also because he wasn't quite desperate enough to risk raw fish. He could slip out of his corner and get a bit of water from the pan under the leak in the roof, but it was freezing cold and never enough. He wouldn't risk setting his water bottle up there, either.

Above all else, he had to be careful. Even if his stomach was thoroughly hollowed out, even if his leg wound throbbed, even if he couldn't easily free his tongue from his palate.

_Mustn't get caught mustn't get caught mustn't get caught..._

Whatever he risked, it would not be his freedom. He had to preserve it at all costs. It was, after all, the only thing he had left.

But as much as he feared having to leave this place of relative safety, he couldn't stay. He would be caught if he remained in the same place for too long. It was a simple matter of statistics. He had to leave. Not just this building, but this town.

It couldn't be on foot, of course. Even if he could find a way to disguise himself, it would be a long trek past familiar places and people all too likely to notice him. He wasn't even sure if he had the energy to walk that far—and it wasn't as if he'd be safe once he crossed the city limits.

There were cars, but there were also cameras on the roads. Supposedly they only recorded people speeding, but he couldn't be certain—and who was to say he wouldn't accidentally speed? He didn't have so much as a motorbike license, let alone the certification and knowledge to drive a car. Even if he was lucky enough to find a prime automobile with heavily tinted windows, how was he going to take it? Hot-wire it, whatever that entailed? Sneak into the back and hope the driver wouldn't notice? Find the car idling and force the driver out? That wouldn't do much to keep law enforcement from finding him.

It was clear he couldn't leave by land. There was, however, another route.

He peered out the window. Details couldn't be made out through the dirty glass, and there wasn't an abundance of lampposts in the area, but he could still make out a few of the docks. Just a few private boats for fishing or leisure. Some were bigger than others, but most were a sort of standard five-passenger sort of model.

His father had taught him how to drive one, but that had been over a decade ago, when he hadn't even been able to reach the pedals. Still, he was certain he could piece the process together between observing others and eventually getting into the boat himself. It was still a risk, of course, but everything was these days. At least the shore was barely patrolled here; he'd have to worry a bit more about his destination, but he would find a way to handle it. He had to.

_Mustn't be caught, mustn't be caught..._

Realising his gaze had lost focus, he lowered himself back to the floor. It was still the middle of the night, and he needed sleep. Easy as it was to drift off—even in the cold, he was more than exhausted enough—it was impossible to sleep through the night. Often he woke from nightmares; other times he woke inexplicably, but not without a knot in his stomach and a sense of foreboding. He could fall asleep again if he tried, but was it really worth it?

If only he could really, honestly sleep—no, _rest_. If only he could really eat, or drink, or do anything but panic and hide. How had it come to this? Why had his life transformed into something as warped as this? It was still miserable before, granted, but he hadn't feared actual starvation. He'd had warm clothes and a place to lay his head, even if he was set aching first.

And he'd had a brother and no blood on his hands.

_How on earth did it come to this?_

Shivering, he curled up and shut his eyes.

* * *

One man always stowed his boat key between the driver's seat cushions. That alone would have been reason enough to select the boat, but Zacharias also managed to chance upon one of the redhead's conversations. Given his distance and the man's thick accent—something Scottish—he could only pick up bits and pieces, but it was enough to know he was headed away for a few days.

By the time he reported a missing boat, Zacharias would be long gone.

He waited till the restaurant was closed for the night. Swiping a fishing hat from the lost and found—not without pulling out the ridiculous, colourful lures that could help someone recognise it—he pulled it down over his ears and slipped to the entrance. Once he unlocked it, he would have to leave it that way. But a worker had neglected to lock up before; this wouldn't be terribly suspicious.

The docks weren't terribly popular after sundown, so he wound his way to the correct dock without interruption. Only when he stepped up to the targeted boat did someone notice.

"Oi!"

Zacharias froze before slowly turning his head. His face should have been well-obscured by the shadows, especially with the hat. Right?

"If you're looking to buy a boat, you'll want to try another five docks down."

The newcomer was alone but fairly well-built. Probably fifteen years older than him, she wore her dark hair in a long ponytail just beneath her short-brimmed hat, which hid her eyes a bit. He could still read the suspicion on her face.

He had precious little time to decide on the best course of action and so ended up bluffing it.

"Nay, I'm after Lewis's boat," he said in the thickest Scottish accent he could muster. "I'm certain this is it."

The woman frowned, a bit more in thought than suspicion. "What business do you have with it? Lewis hasn't said anything about someone else using his boat."

Zacharias widened his eyes in shock. "What? He didnae mention Jack?"

"Not a word." She paused, folding her arms. "You're not that nephew of his, are you?"

Hopefully that wasn't a trap. "Aye. What's he go on saying about me?"

She scoffed. "Mostly that you need to find yourself a lass. He give you a key?"

He shook his head. "But he did tell me where he keeps it."

The woman glanced at the driver's seat before shrugging. "Well, I don't know what the heck else a Scotsman would be doing here if he wasn't Lewis's. Just watch yourself. It gets dark out there quickly."

"I got a torch." Zacharias retrieved the item in question.

"Very well. May the fish flock to it." She began to turn around. "See you later, Jack."

He waved and carefully stepped onto the boat as she walked away.

Did that actually work? It could have gone south at any point. It was a terrible idea. He should have just chucked her into the water—but that would have also been a terrible idea.

_Everything was a terrible idea. Let's just get out of here already._

He untied the boat from the dock, located the key, and started up the engine. Lights lit up the small dashboard and a bit of the floor space, but it wouldn't be much once he was beyond the lampposts. It was just as well. He could wait it out a bit if he needed more light. So long as he was gone before the dock populated itself again.

It was rather smooth sailing, although the journey over dark waters was more than eerie and he had to stop to rest before long. Even so, he had made it to unfamiliar shores by dawn.

He needed somewhere where he could lie low and survive, where people wouldn't easily recognise him. A dock for the boat might be nice—

No. No, no, no. That would leave far too much of a trail to follow. He could not dock the boat at his destination, or even near it.

Perhaps he could pay someone to drive the boat back to the dock? But he could hardly trust a stranger to do that. The boat had no sort of autopilot, so he couldn't send it out into the water by itself. Then the only way to erase his tracks... would be to sink it.

But how? He had no way to puncture the hull, nor enough boating knowledge to use another method. Would he have to outright crash it? But that was dangerous, and he'd have to be near shore. The pieces would be found too quickly.

After a while of frustration, he eased the boat to what he deemed a reasonable location and pulled an icebox from beside the passenger seats. This would probably take a bit of time, but the nearest boat was still quite far away, and the nearby shore had only one house, whose lights were out.

When filled with water, the icebox was difficult to wrangle back onto the boat, but it was easy enough to tip over. Water spilled across the deck, lapping past his shoes and swishing from side to side along with the waves. Another tubful, and his arms were burning. But he could not stop. This had to be done.

_Mustn't be caught._

Another tubful, and his socks grew damp. His bookbag wouldn't keep them dry, so it was easier not to remove them at all. He was a decent swimmer, and if he was swimming for his life's sake, he would certainly be able to handle a little extra weight on his feet. Wouldn't have to worry about changing when he reached the shore, either.

After another sweep of the area—house lights still off, the other boat even farther away—he continued pouring water onto the deck. The seat cushions darkened. The top of one floated away from its perch, revealing the fishing supplies stowed beneath it. They began to float as well.

It became harder to keep his balance with the water level rising and a few waves going about their business, but he kept moving the water. He was certain the boat was beginning to sink. Just another tubful... Another...

He didn't realise how far the boat was tilted in his direction till a stronger wave hit. A bit of the water splashed over, spraying the side of his face, before the boat went more askew—suddenly the ground slipped from under his feet. Hitting his shoulder against the floor, he scrambled to get back up but found himself standing on the inner wall of the boat, cold water sloshing all around and going straight through his shirt.

Then the boat capsized.

Zacharias leapt away, but it wasn't far enough. Half-underwater, he could see naught but shifting shadows as something slammed into the back of his head.

His cry of pain came out in bubbles as the darkness grew greater. A burning sensation coursed through his lungs as the little bit of air there went sour, and he kicked as hard as he could towards the surface. The water was getting lighter, wasn't it? Surely... Surely he was going the right way...

A stab of pain went through his injured leg as it cramped up. Gritting his teeth, Zacharias struggled to force it back into action, but it wasn't cooperating. Besides the throbbing in his head, a terrible fuzziness had settled in, and it was all he could do to keep from breathing in.

This couldn't happen! He couldn't die here! He couldn't be caught! Not after...

_No no no no nononononoNONONONONO_

He thrashed towards the surface as hard as he could, pouring every ounce of precious energy he had into slicing through the water. But when his reflexes won and a surge of liquid went splintering through his lungs, he couldn't hold onto consciousness for all it was worth.


	11. Confidence

Before the trial, Barnham had overheard Layton making some sort of arrangement regarding the defence attorney. Though he hadn't managed to catch any of the details, he could imagine only one such defence attorney who would care to come for his sake.

Let it be, then. Sir Blue Knight would be an excellent opponent for his first real trial. It had been several years since they had last crossed swords—would the both of them be more skilled this time? 'Twould be a magnificent battle indeed.

Technically speaking, it was not his first trial, even disregarding his exploits as Inquisitor. Those other trials, however, had been but small assignations to serve his duty as a man of the law while he pursued greater prey. It had been a difficult hunt through files and witnesses, but at last he was able to cast the cold case into the light.

The parts of it he had wanted to bring up, at least. Once he had won the rights to investigate the case, it had been surprisingly easy to suppress the name of the former suspect in the new paperwork. It was of little relevance as far as the court was concerned, and the system apparently didn't find it curious that the suspect's and prosecutor's names were identical.

Once all of the necessary measures were taken—once all of the evidence and persons of interest had been thoroughly analysed, he had finally stepped up to the inspector and said:

_"I believe there is sufficient evidence to arrest Mrs Gloria Barnham for murder."_

Although it caused a bit of shock for the accused, the arrest was not resisted, and the court date was arranged quickly.

It was today. The reason he had ever stepped outside his home of Labyrinthia was finally at hand. His skills were not rusty, nor was he unsure about what the verdict ought to be. There was no need for hesitation. Today, justice would at last be won for that indefensible death so many years ago.

He entered the courtroom in his usual guise—after he had ensured there were no rules to the contrary, he donned his coat of armour once again, helmet excepting. He stepped up behind the bench and shut his eyes. The defendant was present, and he wished to avert his gaze from her for the time being.

"The trial of Ms Gloria Barnham will now commence." The judge adjusted his spectacles with a small sound. "Is the prosecution ready?"

Barnham nodded. "Yes, Milord."

"And the defence?"

"Yes, My Lord."

Barnham's eyes shot open at the sound of a voice that very clearly did not belong to Wright. He couldn't help but draw back in surprise.

"Miss... Miss Cantabella?"

From the other bench, Espella regarded him evenly, taking a deep breath. "Mr Barnham." She smiled. "I take it you weren't expecting me?"

"I must admit I was not."

She gripped the cloak thrown on over her dress suit. "When I was informed about this trial, I hardly had a choice but to come." She leaned forward earnestly. "If Mrs Barnham is not guilty, I will do everything in my power for a not guilty verdict."

Barnham shut his eyes. "And if she is guilty, I will ensure that _that_ is her verdict. It sounds fair." He looked back at her. "Of course you realise I would not accuse her if I did not believe she had done it."

"Yes. But I will not let you do this—to her or to yourself—if you are mistaken."

"Very well." He drew his replica sword and held it out with arm extended. "Let us cross blades with honour!"

The judge was silent for another moment, his mouth hanging the slightest bit open, before he composed himself. "Er, am I to take that as your opening statement, Mr Barnham?"

"That's certainly the marrow of it." He sheathed the sword. "Mrs Gloria Barnham is responsible for the death of Constantine Barnham fifteen years ago, and I seek to prove that sufficiently to this court."

The judge paused again. "It cannot be a coincidence that the prosecutor, defendant, and victim are of the same name."

Barnham shut his eyes. "Indeed it is not. The defendant is accused of killing her own son."

"My!" The judge's eyes flew wide open before he frowned. "I do hope you wouldn't throw such an allegation about lightly."

Barnham held a palm up, sweeping it to his side. "I certainly would not."

"Very well. Please call your first witness."

_Er... _first._ Right. One at a time._

"To present a proper overview of the case, I would like to summon the detective who has aided me in putting together my investigation."

At once, a large-framed man in a green coat stepped up to the stand.

"Witness. Please state your name and profession."

He nodded. "Name's Dick Gumshoe. I'm a homicide detective at the local precinct." He paused, quirking one eyebrow at a time. "Well, not the _local_ local precinct. Just my local precinct. Although I've also been working for _this_ local precinct. Uh..."

The judge's eyes widened. "Oh! Your accent..."

Gumshoe grinned. "That's right, sir. I'm here on an exchange for the Legal League of Detectives."

"You can't have been here long, then," said the judge.

"No, sir. I couldn't expect them to pay for my stay otherwise, sir."

Barnham let out a breath. "He has not assisted me throughout my investigation, but he was assigned to my case upon his arrival. He ought to know it well by now."

"That's right, Your Honor, sir. I know the details of this case as much as any other I've investigated."

The judge seemed to think for a moment before nodding. "Very well, Detective Gumshoe. Please give us your testimony."

"Yes, sir!

"The victim, Constantine Barnham, was killed at about 11:30PM on October 3. The method was strangulation by hand, so the exact scene of the crime hasn't been conclusively identified. The body was found in Ethelred's Park a little before 1:00. At that time, a witness found him, along with the body of Colin Bristow and the boy suspected of murdering him. That death isn't important in this trial, though."

The judge paused in though before looking to Espella. "Ms Cantabella?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"This is your first case in court, is it not?"

She glanced down. "That's right." Inhaling, she looked back at the judge. "But I assure you you've nothing to worry about."

"You are familiar enough with cross-examination, then?"

"Yes, My Lord."

The judge nodded. "Then you may begin."

Gumshoe got through his first sentence before Espella interjected.

"Hold it! How was the time of death determined?"

Gumshoe grinned. "With the power of science, pal! It has something to do with the temperature of the body, I think. What was it... rigor mortis?"

Espella paused, thinking. "But if it's just calculated from temperature, wouldn't it be more from math than science?"

The detective glanced from side to side. "Umm... Hmm..."

"Objection!" Barnham shook his head. Of all the people that could have aided him in court today... "What the good detective means to say is that it was determined in the autopsy. I presume you'd like to view the report yourself?"

She nodded. "If you would."

"I shall submit it to the court."

The report said little of importance that Gumshoe hadn't put to words himself. An antemortem head contusion—not particularly serious—and blood settling indicating that the victim had been lying face-up for some time.

Indicating that his brother had been lying face-up for some time...

He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing as the cross-examination resumed.

"Hold it!" Espella's fingers struck the bench with a thump. "If the strangulation was by hand, wouldn't fingerprints be left behind?"

Gumshoe frowned. "Well, sometimes. Prints are a lot harder to pull from skin than other surfaces. We—er, they—didn't luck out on this one."

Espella allowed his testimony to continue again but pressed his next statement. "Was there any evidence that Mrs Barnham had gone to the park?"

"Yeah, pal. The park was just muddy enough to get us some good footprints, and a couple of those were a perfect match to Mrs Barnham's shoes, scuffs and all."

"Couldn't she have left those prints before the murder?"

Gumshoe quirked an eyebrow. "I... guess that's possible."

"Possible, but quite unlikely," Barnham said. "The rain that day would have muddled any prints left before evening, and the accused did not leave her house after that point. She has confessed as much."

"Objection!" Espella leaned forward. "If she didn't leave the house at all, how could she have possibly left her own shoe prints in the park?"

Barnham shook his head. "You can hardly expect the murderer to admit to something as incriminating as visiting the spot where the body was found. The important part is that she did not go to the park before the murder."

The judge nodded. "I see. Detective, you may—"

"Objection!" Espella gripped the front of her cloak, leaning back. "Er, I'm sorry, My Lord..." She shook herself out of it. "But, Detective Gumshoe. Couldn't someone else have left prints using her shoes?"

"If they had them, yeah." He smirked. "But your supposed culprit would have to steal them from her house, right? They had a security system, pal!"

Barnham didn't realise he was grimacing for a minute.

"Prosecutor Barnham? Is there something you'd like to add?" the judge asked.

Barnham paused before lifting a hand with curled fingers. "The security system was disabled at about 23:20, or 11:20PM."

The judge's eyes widened. "Isn't that nearly the same as the time of death?"

Espella pounded the bench. "This couldn't possibly be a coincidence! Don't you think, Inquisitor Barnham?"

Gumshoe paused. "Inquisitor...?"

Barnham shut his eyes. "Are you truly insinuating that someone snuck into the Barnham household while the alarm was down in order to steal the shoes of the accused?"

Leaning forward in earnest, Espella said, "That could have easily been an afterthought. If the victim was inside the house and that was the scene of the crime, the culprit could have concocted a plan involving the shoes to frame my client!"

Barnham reared back before slamming a fist down onto the bench. "If so, your culprit did a very messy job of it! Your client wasn't accused until fifteen years after the murder! Surely anyone trying to frame Mrs Barnham would have taken more care than that." He straightened himself up. "Or do you have any proof that the shoes were stolen by another party?"

She looked down. "I don't suppose they were fingerprinted?"

He shook his head.

"Well, you certainly can't deny the possibility that the footprints were faked," she said. "I don't believe they are sufficient to condemn Mrs Barnham as the guilty party."

Barnham watched her across the court. "I do believe you're grasping... Lady Red Cloak. But if the footprints do not make your client suspicious enough, perhaps it is best to discuss something else.

"Shall we examine the motive for this murder?"


	12. Desperation

Zacharias couldn't open his eyes. Something cushioned pressed against the edges of his face, though the space from his forehead to mouth met air. His mouth was open, and... something wasn't right. Was he... eating something? His jaw wasn't moving...

Nor was the rest of him. He couldn't budge himself from where he lay prone, on something else covered in fabric. If he focused for a moment, he noticed a sort of drifting feeling—was he floating? On some sort of raft?

_How did I get here? Where is "here"? What was I even doing before...?_

His mind swam into darkness again but resurfaced at some other point. Something to his right beeped quietly. Too-bright linoleum tile was beneath him, as well as a clear tube falling from his mouth and a grey wire crossing to somewhere.

It took a few more periods of consciousness before his mind was strong enough to put it together.

He was in hospital.

He had been found.

_It's all over.  
_

After everything that had transpired, after his brother's death, after the murder he committed, after a week or so of running and hiding and utter exhaustion—after every last harsh penalty that had been piled onto him, no relief awaited. Only a bit of recovery time, a trial, imprisonment or return to his parents. The chain of events would go forward as it had for every other guilty criminal. And there was no escape, not anymore. Nowhere to run or hide, and no strength to even try.

He had truly reached the end of that disastrous runaway attempt. He had thoroughly, miserably, and irrevocably failed both his brother and himself. And there was no way he could make amends for that, not with Constantine dead and Zacharias as good as dead.

_..._

_Why _aren't _I dead?_

He had been saved in time to prevent it, yes, but he was still clearly in poor condition. It could go either way. And surely, if mortally ill men could sustain their lives only by power of will, the reverse was just as possible? Surely if he just shut his eyes and gave up, his death would come.

Was there any reason not to do so? What had he to live for? Not his brother. His parents were already burying one child—how much more could it hurt to add the other? Even if that was worse, it wasn't as if they didn't deserve it. One who raises a fist to a child should be very well prepared to mourn him.

There were his friends, and Jessica... But he was lost to them already. The years of fear, his brother's death, his victim's death, his struggle for life afterwards... Many, many cracks spanned his armour. If he wasn't broken already, any other blow could shatter him to pieces.

_So let them mourn._

He shut his eyes.

* * *

_It's much easier to learn a tennis stroke than to fix one you already know._ _Once you're familiar with a swing, once you've done it any number of times, it's there to stay. Even if you learn you've been choking up too much on the racket handle, and even if you correct yourself the next time you swing like that, the old stroke comes back. __Your mind can think whatever it likes about your technique and what needs to be changed about it, but your body resists the change. It knows very well what you've taught it already and can't be swayed by merely a change of heart._

_And it seems I've trained my body far too fervently to cling to life no matter the circumstances._

Zacharias awoke to find himself lying face-up with his throat no longer intubated. He could still taste the plastic, but his mouth was shut for the first time in ages.

He worked to push himself up on his elbows, but the wave of dizziness sent his head thumping back onto the pillow. The tape at the crook of his elbow itched, but he dared not fiddle with it considering the IV connected there.

"Zacharias?"

For a moment he thought he heard his father's voice, but only a bit of sweat trickled down his neck before he fully registered the sound. Not quite as low in pitch and altogether different in tone.

Given the murder, he couldn't find much more comfort in that.

He shifted his shoulders and began to tilt his head towards the voice, but the man quickly stepped into view. He had a rather oblong face as well as all-white hair tied back in a ponytail. He held his arms at his sides and smiled in an unexaggerated way.

"I'm glad to see that you're faring better. I doubt you'll want to speak yet, but can you listen?"

Zacharias tilted his chin down and back up again.

"Good." The man gave a short bow. "I am Dr. Newton Belduke, and I've been seeing to your medical needs for the past week. I intend to continue guiding you back to health, of course, but you'll have a new visitor soon. His name is Arthur Cantabella, and he's rather excited to meet you."

_Meet the murderer?_

Zacharias opened his mouth to voice his response but couldn't get out more than a crackling moan.

"No." Belduke held a hand out in a stop motion. "Your lungs have had quite the hard time lately. Don't strain them."

With a groan, Zacharias shut his mouth.

* * *

"Zacharias Barnham, correct?" said the man with the half-mask as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Narrowing his eyes, Zacharias sipped at his cup of water. He had done his best to refuse food, but the urge to slake his thirst had been far too strong.

"We couldn't find any identification on you, of course, but you match the description of the young man on the news quite well."

"The murderer, you mean?" he responded as casually as possible before coughing a few times. More water.

Cantabella let his fingers curl. "Allegedly. I suppose I should ask you if it's true."

Zacharias fisted his hand. "I did not lay a hand on my brother! He was killed for scraps by that bloody urchin!"

"And so you killed the urchin? For justice's sake?"

It was so painful Zacharias smiled. "I couldn't say what motivated me. But retribution that rash and personal can only be called vengeance. Justice..." He raised his cup to his lips with a shaking hand. "That's more along the lines of what you'll be turning me in to once I'm well, correct?"

"Perhaps."

Zacharias paused, the water standing in his mouth.

"Tell me, Zacharias, are you happy with your life? How it has been, and what will become of it?"

He set his cup down loudly, next to the cold, untouched shepherd's pie.

Arthur eyed the tray before turning back to the boy. "You feel there's no hope?"

"None."

"And I don't imagine your memories of the past are particularly pleasant?"

He wadded up the sheets in his fists. "Why do you even ask?"

Cantabella pinched a page of the book in his hand and flipped it, then another, although he clearly wasn't reading. "Let us suppose there is a way to let you forget, and to give you a new home where you are not a wanted man—a new, hopeful life."

"Have you nothing better to do than torture a boy who's lost everything?!" Zacharias slammed a fist down onto the tray with such force it toppled, sending the uneaten meal flying across his bed and the half-empty glass thudding onto his shin. Breathing heavily, he continued to hold up his clenched fist as water soaked into the sheets, chilling his knees.

"I don't intend to torture you." He shut the book and looked Zacharias in the eye. "You may have heard of Labrelum Inc. because of our groundbreaking anaesthetic. But we've also discovered, shall we say, a method for redeeming the entire human mind. A way to erase sour memories and affect perception. We're setting up a large experiment for those willing to try. You may be interested to know it will take place in a city not on any map—certainly nowhere the police would end up checking."

Zacharias's pulse whooshed past his ears as his hand fell to his side. He could rasp nothing more eloquent than "_What?_" before he burst out coughing again. The glass at his knees was empty, but Belduke quickly came by with a full one. He gave Arthur a look—_don't excite him so much; it isn't healthy_—before hurrying to check on something else.

Cantabella let Zacharias drink before continuing. "In our experiment, we are setting up a false town by the name of Labyrinthia. Participants have memories of their old lives suppressed—including any recent news reports, might I add—and assume a post to help the town function. There will also be witch trials put on, as in a stage play, but you needn't worry about anyone being harmed. We take our participants' safety seriously."

Zacharias continued to sit silently, his gaze unfixed.

"We can discuss the legal matters of participation at a later time. For now, I must know—is there anything seemingly innocuous that could trigger strong memories of yours? It would ruin our research if the effects of the pharmaceuticals were overcome, even for a moment."

What could trigger memories? Cold storage areas, perhaps, or parks, or lampposts at parks, or corpses at parks, his victim's corpse, his brother's corpse, dead eyes dead eyes _dead eyes_

His breath left him as he clenched his eyes shut.

_No no no no no no no_

He shook, his heart lunging in every direction as the monitor's beeping grew quicker and louder.

_I'm dying! I'm dying? What—What's happening I don't I don't_

"What is it? Is he okay?" Belduke's voice rang as his footsteps rushed into the room.

Zacharias finally opened his eyes and turned to stare at him in fear. After several failed tries to get control of his rapid breathing, he managed, "I-I'm dying!"

Belduke snapped his gaze to the monitor, rapidly looking over the sharp peaks and troughs, before turning back to him. "Your heartbeat is faster, but it's normal. You're not dying. I promise."

"I d-don't even know you! What is your word to me?!" He went into another bout of coughing, at which point Belduke hurried to grab some sort of tubing with a thick balloon of sorts on one end.

_I'm going to die...!_

_I thought I wanted—but I'm dying... N-no..._

Those dead eyes flashed across his mind as his breathing and heartbeat continued to race.

_Make it stop—make it stop—I don't want to—make it stop—make it go away—please!_

_Please..._

By the time his heart monitor had quieted down, he was sobbing.

"I... shall leave the rest of the conversation for another time," Cantabella said hastily, standing. "Take care of yourself, boy."

Belduke looked over the EKG data after ensuring that Zacharias was breathing normally. Zacharias himself, still shaking, resumed staring at the far wall.

Was it true? Was there really hope for him yet?

There had to be a catch—he'd need to look into it—but... Even so, what choice did he have? Let them turn him in?

_Mustn't be caught mustn't be caught_

Never. Try to escape? There was only one exit and enough men watching to overpower him—especially in his state. He'd only get himself turned in.

And if it was the truth... It could all go away. No more memories of that wretched night, nor of his panicked flight... A chance to do some good, even after his crime, and still be free from his parents...

What catch could possibly be horrendous enough to make him say no? Did such a thing even exist?

He considered calling Cantabella back, then and there, to agree to the experiment but froze.

_ I would forget all about Constantine._

Wasn't that right? If his memories were erased to the point he could assume an altogether new identity, he would surely forget about the existence of his brother. Everything they had done together. Even what he had looked like. It would be as if he had never existed.

_But... Nor would I remember his death._

He gripped his sheets, staring at the wrinkles in the fabric, until another fit of coughing forced him to reach for the glass.

* * *

No longer hungry and no longer coughing, Zacharias stood at the door of the Entry Room. Inside he would be subjected to the special anaesthesia and hypnotised by it. He would have a new identity and play his role in the experiment of Labyrinthia.

_"Additionally..." Cantabella continued to take notes. "Although I cannot guarantee that you will be able to take the role of your choice, is there anything you'd like to request?"_

_Zacharias looked at the ground for a moment before facing him again with a focused stare._

_"Put me somewhere I cannot afford to be a coward."_

_Cantabella considered this before scanning his notes. "You seem a sharp young man. I believe I have just the place for you."_

Zacharias still didn't know what that place was, but it hardly mattered. His entire mad charade would finally be over. He would be able to start again, free. In doing so, he would even aid the progress of science as well as, apparently, Cantabella's daughter.

Once he stepped inside to meet with Belduke, his new life would begin without a trace of the old.

_Without a single trace..._

He stared down the door for a moment longer before shutting his eyes.

_I..._

_I'm sorry, brother._

He swung the door open and stepped through.


	13. Determination

"Detective. Please explain how none of the others linked to the scene of the crime had a motive to kill the victim."

"You got it, sir." After glancing at the judge to ensure Barnham's order wouldn't be challenged, Gumshoe began a fresh testimony.

"Besides the victim, there were only signs of four people in the park near the time of death. Colin Bristow, who was killed later that night at the scene, had no connection to the victim. His killer, and the previous defendant in this case, was the victim's older sibling and was trying to help him run away safely. Finally, a schoolteacher's footprints were found at the scene, but these were left about an hour before the crime occurred and the body was moved, so they weren't relevant. Only Ms Barnham was known to both enter the area where the body was found and have a reasonable chance of strangling the victim."

Espella stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "So you're saying that the only person with a motive to kill the victim was his own mother? This is ludicrous!"

Gumshoe slumped, looking up at her with mournful eyes. "Ma'am, I'm not trying to go _ad hominy_ on your client, but her kids weren't running away because they wanted to join the circus or something. Ms Barnham and Mr Barnham both abused their children." He paused, blinking. "I mean, the Mr Barnham that was married to Mrs Barnham, not Mr _Prosecutor_ Barnham—"

"I had assumed such," said the judge. He shook his head. "This is a grievous charge to bring upon the accused."

Barnham stood a while before he realised the judge was looking to him. "Y-yes. Grievous but warranted."

"Sir Barnham, are you all right?" Espella started, leaning forward.

He slammed his fist down on the bench quickly enough they couldn't see his arm shaking beforehand. "Yes! Continue with your cross-examination, if you think there be any point to it."

"Um, all right." She turned towards the judge. "The defence has no objections should the prosecution request a recess."

"Very well. I must ask, though..." His eyes widened. "Prosecutor Barnham, I had no idea you were knighted! Surely I would have heard of this..."

"Er..." He shut his eyes. " 'Twas not by the English government, Milord."

Espella paused. "But wasn't Labyrinthia a project of the English government?"

Barnham opened his mouth without reply before frowning and sweeping an arm out to the side. "This issue is entirely irrelevant! Go on with the cross-examination!"

"R-right." Espella turned back to the witness stand, hearing Gumshoe's first statement before stopping him. "What kinds of signs were these?"

"All footprints, pal. A few hairs, which couldn't really be counted on for the right time frame, but matched the shoes' owners regardless."

"And hairs were found for all four of those suspected present?"

Gumshoe frowned. "Only those belonging to the two bodies and the other victim's killer."

Espella thumped her fingers onto her desk. "So there's no DNA evidence that Ms Barnham was present?"

"Just the footprints." He smirked. "But any evidence is good evidence, DNA or not. She was there. Along with...

"Colin Bristow, who was killed later that night at the scene. He had no connection to the victim."

"Hold it!" She cast her gaze down in thought for a moment. "Even if they had no connection, that doesn't mean there couldn't have been some other kind of motive, right?"

Barnham frowned. "Then what motive do you suggest?"

"Um... Robbery?" She glanced through the autopsy report, stopping at the appended picture of the body. "The victim was wearing a loaded backpack, after all."

"Objection!" Barnham shook his head. "You've stated the exact reason it could not have been robbery. Hours passed between the murder and Mr Bristow's death, and yet the backpack did not make its way into the latter's possession."

"Objection!" She leaned forward. "Mr Bristow's target needn't have been the entire backpack. Who's to say that nothing went missing from it?"

"The evidence, perhaps?" He plucked up the right piece of paper. "I'd like to submit the forensic analysis of the backpack to the court. Mr Bristow's fingerprints were only found on the strap—not on the main latch, nor the zipper pulls."

Espella waited for a copy of the report and looked it over. "But the backpack had accessible outside pockets, did it not?"

He frowned. "For a water bottle! You think Mr Bristow would strangle a child to steal a _water bottle_?"

Espella's fingers struck the top of the bench. "Just because it's meant to hold a water bottle doesn't mean it indeed was! If the victim was trying to run away, surely he would have brought some money, or something of worth to sell, to help support himself!"

Barnham shook his head. "One pocket contained a water bottle, and the other was empty."

"I see no such thing on this report." She pointed at him. "Where is your proof of this?"

_Within my own memory._

He fell silent for a moment before opening his eyes again. "The testimony of Mr Bristow's murderer. I... did not speak with him myself, of course, but there was a written testimony."

The judge's eyes went wide. "He left a note before disappearing?"

"Something of that sort. At any rate, his motives in confessing are not the subject of this trial. Suffice it to say that the victim was carrying nothing of worth in the outer pockets of his backpack."

Espella frowned, silent, and Barnham beckoned for the detective to continue.

"His killer, and the previous defendant in this case, was the victim's older sibling and was trying to help him run away safely."

"Hold it!" she cried before falling silent, her hands clasped as she looked down at the bench.

The judge frowned at her. "Ms Cantabella? Is something the matter?"

"No, I..." She trained her gaze at the man across the courtroom, her eyes troubled.

Barnham closed his own eyes, stiffening his arms in an attempt to do away the rattling his armour was giving off. "If there is no problem, we shall continue with the testimony."

Gumshoe frowned at Espella but nodded. "Finally—"

"Objection!" Espella leaned forward in earnest, eyes still on Barnham. "There... There were three siblings, weren't there?! Three Barnham brothers?"

The prosecutor drew back a bit.

_She's that desperate to believe in me, is she?_

_Well... She's clearly aware that her client is my mother. I imagine Sir Top Hat informed her, if nothing else. Should she find the words to accuse me here, this trial cannot continue._

_I shall never let that happen._

He allowed time for the question to sit, for the idea to sink into the listeners' minds, then said, "Is this question relevant to the case at hand, Lady Red Cloak? I remind you that only four persons' footprints were found at the scene."

"Oh..." Her shoulders relaxed. "I suppose not." She nodded at Gumshoe. "Please continue the testimony."

"Right.

"Finally, a schoolteacher's footprints were found at the scene, but these were left about an hour before the crime occurred and the body was moved, so they weren't relevant."

"Hold it! How was the age of the footprints determined?"

Gumshoe didn't miss a beat. "Her own testimony. She had walked to a nearby department store for a special midnight sale. She took the same street back, on the other side, and that's when she discovered the bodies. Her whole alibi checked out just fine."

Espella's eyes widened. "You mean this was the eyewitness that reported the crime? Is she available for testimony?"

Barnham stayed silent, his hand held up and his eyes closed, before he took a deep breath. "It could possibly be arranged; however, you should know that the trauma of her experience regarding the murder and questioning led her to pursue a certain... escape. And I do believe calling her to the stand would... _lead to nothing but trouble_."

"Oh... Oh!" She drew back. "Then I... I suppose there's no need to have her here tonight."

He shook his head. "There is not. I do have documentation of her previous testimony if it interests you, but it only makes it clearer that she was not the culprit."

She gave a nod. "I would like to look at it."

Barnham submitted the testimony to the court, and Espella perused it, but she didn't appear to find anything promising.

"Would you like to continue with your dead-end cross-examination, Lady Red Cloak?"

"Yes. I mean—it's not necessarily dead-end, Inquisitor Barnham!"

"Very well. Go on, Detective."

Gumshoe reproduced his last statement and was stopped again.

"Ms Barnham certainly appears to have moved the body," Espella started. "But that hardly means she had to have killed him. If the... If the abuse is your 'motive,' Mr Barnham could have just as easily been the culprit."

Gumshoe raised an eyebrow, then the other. "What do you mean, Mr Barnham? He would have been a teenager at the time—"

The prosecutor slammed a fist down onto the bench, startling the detective. "Sir Gumshoe! If this is causing you such trouble, we shall henceforth refer to the husband of the accused as Mr Lionel Barnham."

"Oh!" Gumshoe chuckled. "_That_ Mr Barnham. I mean, uh, _that_ Mr Lionel Barnham."

Barnham sighed, with a bit of a growl beneath it. "Yes, that one. Anyway, we shan't have him testifying tonight. He passed away some seven years ago of hepatorenal failure."

"Ah, I... I'm sorry to hear that." She looked down again.

Barnham shut his eyes. " 'Tis... irrelevant to the trial. He was not the culprit. He... was still sleeping..."

He could feel his heart add an extra beat as he clenched his fists, his armour rattling more than a battered Vigilante's.

"Prosecutor Barnham! Are you well?"

"Deep breathing... Deep breathing..." It was only... a small panic attack. Nothing serious. Only... Only...

He squeezed his eyes shut as his mind frantically searched the dark house and then the streets for his long-dead brother.

His hearing wouldn't attend to much but his rushing pulse, but somewhere he heard a call for a recess. He was vaguely aware of his flight to the lobby, but this was all very distant. His own mind and past were far, far closer.

Eventually it subsided. He was not dying. He was not the distraught Zacharias trying to escape. He was Prosecutor Barnham, in the midst of a case he needed to settle once and for all.

By the time he had regained his presence of mind, Espella was sitting across from him.

"Sir... Sir Barnham?"

The worry in her eyes bordered on panic, so he responded as soon as he was able. "It's all right. I apologise for that. We may continue the trial now."

Though he made a motion to stand, she looked down, silent.

"Sir Barnham, I-I'm sorry if I've pushed you too hard. This is such a personal battle for you, and I... I don't feel I've been treating it carefully enough."

He shook his head hard. "If anyone's to blame for this trial's effects on me, 'twould be myself. I pursued this case, and I shall see it through regardless of the competition." He let himself smile a bit. "Though I do find it curious you would take this case at all if you did not want to see how I reacted to it."

Frowning, she cried, "Of course I had to take this case! I..." She gripped the front of her cloak with both hands. "I can't let you condemn her if you're mistaken. Taking everything away from your own mother, that—" she tilted her head down a bit more, her eyes closing as a few tears began to stream down—"that's not a weight anyone should have to carry!"

He stiffened. "Miss Cantabella... Surely you know the truth of the Legendary Fire? You were not responsible for those deaths."

She shook her head, meeting his gaze. "I did not ring the bell myself, but I cannot deny the part I played. But this trial is not about me, Sir Barnham. I've come to terms with my own story. It's your turn now."

He drew his sword, ceasing his frowning. "Very well; I agree. Shall we return to the court?"

* * *

Espella fought a while longer, pursuing both Mr Lionel Barnham and an unknown who didn't leave footprints as suspects. She even brought up the statute of limitations, but Barnham had already confirmed that his mother had continued the tradition of yearly vacations to the continent. She was well within the limit once those visits were subtracted.

"My Lord, you must still agree that there isn't strong enough evidence to prove that my client killed her son."

The judge considered this. "You do have a point—"

"Objection!"

Espella froze, Barnham drew back, and the judge blinked in confusion. Gloria stepped to the witness stand, her gaze solemn.

"Ms Barnham?" Espella frowned, swallowing. "What is it?"

She shut her eyes, her arms folded loosely. "This... has gone on long enough." She met Espella's gaze with a forced smile. "Thank you so much for your representation, Miss Cantabella. I truly appreciate your efforts."

The look of surprise on the judge's face hadn't faded. "Ms Barnham... Are you preparing to confess?!"

"Yes." She let her arms fall to her sides. "You're more than capable enough to make the truth known here, Zacharias. I shouldn't waste any more of the court's time."

"I—!" Barnham thrust his sword point in her direction. "I-I have instructed you to refer to me by my proper title, Ms Barnham!"

"O-of course, Prosecutor." She clasped her hands together, a few silent tears falling from her chin. "I'm so glad to see you grown into such an upright man... That's a-all I ever wanted for you boys..."

_Somehow I never got that impression._

He sheathed his sword. "Then I hope you're _ecstatic_ about a son of yours bringing you to justice at last."

"Hold on one moment!" The judge gasped like an airborne fish. "Prosecutor Barnham! You made no note of your relationship to those involved in this case!"

Barnham swept his arm to the side, though he put it back down once his trembling became apparent. " 'Twas not relevant to the verdict, Milord. Shall—Shall we hear her confession?"

The judge settled down. "Of course... You may continue, Ms Barnham."

She nodded. "I... had gone to bed alongside my husband that night. I suppose I'd had too much caffeine, or sugar, or both, in my tea that night... He dropped off much sooner than me, and, after some time of tossing and turning, I decided to fetch a book from the study. No need to... to disturb my husband any more. He would have an early start the next day."

She sucked in a breath before continuing. "I heard something from the boys' room and went to check. Zacharias was already gone. Constantine... Constantine was sorting through a bag of supplies. He froze when I stepped in. The alarm in his eyes, the food and water in the bag—it was more than clear that he was going to run away. And once he realised that I wasn't completely blocking off the door, h-he made a dash for it.

"I had to stop him! Please, please understand! He was my youngest son, ten years old, and he was going to run off doing God-knows-what...! He and Zacharias had already been getting themselves into trouble! I-I only wanted to stop the boy! What was going to happen to him if he flew off unprotected? What kind of problems, what kind of _serious trouble_ was he g-going to get himself into? What was going to happen to my son if I just let him go?!"

"I'll tell you what would have happened!" Barnham shouted, both hands so heavy on the bench he could have flipped himself over it. "If you had let go of him, your son could have regained his breath! He could have lived! His brother—_your other son!_—wouldn't have had to find him dead! His brother wouldn't have cut some innocent child to ribbons because he thought the urchin had murdered his little brother! Three boys were _damned_ because you _didn't let go_!"

Gloria wept. "I know, I-I know, I... didn't mean to kill him... I d-didn't know what to do... I was going to throw his body in the stream, and... I suppose I didn't... I-I wasn't thinking or seeing clearly... I just... I just lost my son, by my own hands... Wh-what was I supposed to do...?"

"What a _question_!" Barnham slammed his fist into the bench hard enough to hurt. "You stand there confessing now, yet you made no attempt to do so before today! You have been evading justice, dishonouring the memory of the son you murdered, letting the blame fall on another son for _half of his life_—!"

"Objection!" Espella shook her head. "The... The prosecution is interrupting the proceedings. I-I believe we may now move to the verdict, My Lord."

The judge considered this as the pulse in Barnham's ears continued to roar.

"Objection sustained. Mr Barnham, please withhold your commentary."

Barnham shut his eyes. He had lost control again—not to panic, but to rage. 'Twas every bit as unacceptable for a man on the battlefield.

"The court sees no reason to prolong this trial. In the case of the voluntary manslaughter of Constantine Barnham, I find the defendant, Ms Gloria Barnham...

"G·U·I·L·T·Y.

"The accused will surrender to the court immediately, to be held pending trial at a higher court within a month from today's date. That is all. The court is adjourned!"

The gavel struck its target with a hollow sound.


	14. A Free Man

Zacharias Barnham finished off some final paperwork before exchanging his armour for a more casual outfit. He wasn't sure if his trembling had died down or if it was merely harder to detect without the accompanying clattering.

It hardly mattered. His mission was not yet over. He had brought a portion of the truth of that terrible night into the light and brought what retribution he could against his mother.

Now to take care of the rest.

He silently made his way to the office desk to turn in his paperwork, then stopped by the desk of a certain investigator of homicides.

Chelmey only looked up briefly. "Barnham." He turned back to his paperwork, scribbling away. "What is it? I'm a busy man, you know. If you've just come to brag about solving a cold case, you can go talk to Barton."

The inspector signed the bottom of a page and flipped to the next while he waited for a response. One he realised it wasn't forthcoming, he frowned a little more and looked up to see Barnham holding his hands out in front of him, the wrists together.

"What's this all about, then?" sighed Chelmey, eyeing the prosecutor and setting his pen down.

Barnham took a deep breath and maintained his stern gaze.

"I would like to turn myself in for the murder of Colin Bristow."

* * *

Zacharias Barnham sat in the corner of his cell, his head hung just above his knees. The temperature was reasonable, his bed made a surprisingly good chair, and he had put himself in here willingly.

The bars still made him shake and shut his eyes.

_Mustn't be caught mustn't be caught_

At long last, after so many years of evading his sentence, he had indeed been caught. There was no turning back now. But this was how it was supposed to go. This is what he wanted to happen.

Nevertheless, he had to strain himself to keep from crying.

That last night within the illusion of Labyrinthia, he hadn't known why imprisonment had sent him into a panic. Was it better or worse to know why he felt the walls closing in, why he couldn't rein in his breathing, why he felt Death himself lurking just behind him armed and ready? Was it worse to be shaking in the dark or to know precisely why he trembled in this part of his mind?

He wasn't certain. Neither alternative had appeal.

At least now he was imprisoned for a crime he had actually committed. Justice would finally regain its hold on him. After all, he would have had no right to condemn his mother if he were to refuse facing his own judgment. This was the natural order of things. This was the only retribution he could give to the poor soul he had murdered with his own hands. This was the last part of his mission to make amends for every part of that night he could.

It still wasn't enough. He couldn't bring his brother back, nor Colin. Even if he served his time, it would not erase the blood from his hands. His father was dead and his mother incarcerated, but that wouldn't undo the suffering he and Constantine had experienced at their hands.

His mission wasn't over yet. Yes, his imprisonment would finally pay his debt, and he would be able to do nothing else to fix that night. But perhaps he could keep more from happening. If he took his status as protector so seriously, he could bring more than the Labyrinthians under his wing. Any other children who lived in fear as he had—surely he could do something for them.

Precisely what, he did not yet know. But he had plenty of time to think about it.

* * *

"Mr Barnham. You have a visitor."

Zacharias's eyes slid towards the bars as the guard opened the door, though he didn't yet uncurl himself from where he sat on his bed.

The guard stood at attention. "I shall be escorting you to the visitor's room."

Barnham took a few deep breaths. "Very well." He pushed himself to his feet and, after another breath, followed the guard out, down the hall, and into a room set off from the outside world by a pane of bulletproof glass. He seated himself, arranging his arms to make the handcuffs as comfortable as possible before he looked up.

Espella Cantabella sat opposite him.

"Lady Red Cloak," he acknowledged. He hadn't honestly been expecting a visitor so early, but he wasn't entirely surprised to see her. He almost expected to see Sir Top Hat at her side, but the professor could look after him every moment. The man had a job, after all.

"Mr Barnham—" Espella wrung her hands—"it's not true, is it? I-I can't image you doing such a thing."

He shut his eyes. "I would not have turned myself in for a crime I did not commit. Surely you found it curious that I'd erased the name of a key figure in the trial yesterday? 'Twas only because that name was my own."

She remained silent for a moment. "Do... you already know who will represent you?"

"I have yet to look into it." He gazed back at her. "I would consider you or Sir Blue Knight, but my case is hardly worth your time. I am guilty, after all."

"Sir Blue Knight?" She frowned, glancing down at her hands.

Zacharias narrowed his eyes. "Is something the matter with him?"

"Well, he's in good health as far as I know... But he's no longer practising law, Sir Barnham."

"What?" He bared his teeth. "He would cast his sword aside? For what reason?"

"He... hasn't told me," she said with a shake of her head. "But I'm afraid he won't be defending you, in any case."

"I see. 'Tis a shame for him." Realising he was slouching, Barnham straightened out his back.

Espella leaned towards him. "I would be happy to defend you, if you would like me to." She frowned. "I understand if you would rather find someone with more experience, but my offer stands."

He started to hold out a hand, but the jangling of his cuffs stopped him. "I would not reject you for that reason, Lady Red Cloak; however, as I said, my case is hopeless. I know very well that I am guilty—the evidence and my memories both attest to it. It may not reflect so well on you if both of your first cases are resounding losses for the defence."

She held his gaze before thumping the sill before her with her fingertips. "What good is my reputation if I cannot protect those who are important to me?"

Exhaling, Zacharias shut his eyes. Somehow that sentiment seemed familiar.

"I would be honoured to have to you defend me."

"Thank you. I won't let you down. If... If you truly are guilty, there's only so much I can do, but I will ensure you receive a fair sentence if it comes to that."

"It will." He nodded, opening his eyes. "Thank you."

A moment of silence lapsed before Espella frowned again. "Did Eve know you were going to turn yourself in?"

He solemnly shook his head. "I did inform her that I would be gone on business for a time, and I left Constantine in her care. She knew no more than that."

"You'll need to tell her eventually."

He exhaled. "The deed is done. She cannot stop me now. You may tell her herself if you wish."

"I will. She has a right to know." She rubbed her chin. "I wonder if she could bring Constantine here to visit you? I'm sure he'll miss you terribly."

"...Indeed." He shut his eyes tight. "I... shall miss him as well; however, I highly doubt such a visit would be allowed either here or in prison. But he'll be amongst good company in the meantime, a-and I can look forward to our reunion."

If there _would_ be a reunion. How long was he going to be shut away? Would Constantine even turn his way afterwards? Would the dog even be alive? Would his actions force another Constantine to die abandoned?

He bowed his head, taking deep breaths.

"Mr Barnham, actually...!" Espella waited a minute for him to focus back on her. "Mr Edgeworth has told me of a prison where inmates are assigned their own animals. Perhaps we could have you transferred there somehow? I'm certain Constantine would be allowed to stay with you then!"

His brow furrowed. "Is that so?"

She nodded eagerly. "I'll be sure to look into that, as your attorney."

"Thank you, Miss Cantabella..." He held her gaze. "Although I cannot be proud of my part in driving you towards the post of defender, I am truly grateful that you have entered such a position. You are very well cut out for it."

She smiled, a hand resting on the front of her cloak. "I'm glad you think so."

Barnham heard the door behind him slide open before he turned to see the inspector.

"Barnham." Chelmey gave him a curt nod. "Step into the hallway for a moment."

Frowning, he got to his feet. A glance back at a bemused Espella didn't provide him with any more information, so he hurried over to where the inspector stood. The visitor's room door shut behind him as Chelmey sighed.

"Go ahead, Walker."

The guard sifted through his heavy keyring until he found an appropriately small key. With a bit of bewildered cooperation, he unlocked and removed the cuffs from Zacharias's wrists.

Barnham furrowed his brow, eyeing the inspector. "What's the meaning of this?"

"You don't need them, so we took them off." He nodded in the direction of the exit. "I'm to escort you out. Try to keep up with me."

Given his greater height, Zacharias had little trouble following Chelmey's first few steps. "I'm afraid I still don't understand, Inspector."

"Do I have to spell everything out?" Chelmey snapped, pointing and waving his hand in irritation. "You're a free man, Barnham. The crime you professed to doesn't officially exist. Its statute of limitations has run out."

Zacharias's eyebrows lowered further. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. As was demonstrated in my last trial, the statute is put on hold when the culprit is out of the country, and I've spent nearly all of my time since the murder within the walls of Labyrinthia."

"What, that giant laboratory? It's on English soil, Barnham. Every minute of your time there counted in your favour."

Barnham continued in stunned silence until the cells were past and the door just ahead. He gritted his teeth and came to a stop. Chelmey made it a few more steps ahead before noticing.

"What are you doing?! Get over here. I got better things to do than loiter about with someone who's not helping me on any cases."

"But..." He scowled. "Inspector Chelmey, this isn't right. I murdered a child! I can't walk free merely because—because I _hid_ for long enough!"

Of course he wanted to walk free. The bars still shot pins and needles through his bones. He wanted to break out and flee every second he was near them. But that wasn't _right...!_

Chelmey frowned in silence, hands buried in his pockets. "It doesn't sound right when you put it that way, but... that's how the law works. You're a barrister, Barnham. You ought to know it isn't always as fair as we try to make it.

"So look at it this way. You were just a child yourself, weren't you? The murder wasn't premeditated, either, so you wouldn't be serving an awful lot of time, anyway. You're not going to prison, but you can still try to make it right. You're a man of the law, for God's sake. You're paying back your time with every case you solve."

Chelmey turned his back to him and stalked forward. "So come on out of here and go do your bleeding job."

* * *

"Is there something wrong, Miss Eve?"

Snapping her gaze up from the letter she had been skimming, she turned to him. "Oh, er, no." She gripped her arm in a moment of silence before smiling. "Don't mind me. We're celebrating your victory today. Try to enjoy yourself, if you can."

"I don't meant to say Ms Eclaire's work isn't good enough to distract me, but I can hardly go on and enjoy myself when you're clearly distressed. Is it anything I can help with?"

Exhaling, she folded the letter along its seams and cast it onto the table before her. "Not unless you'd like to help Espella at the defence bench next month."

"Why is that?" He frowned, shifting. Constantine responded with a short growl and rearranged himself across Barnham's lap.

Eve leaned back on the couch, folding her hands in her lap. "The lawsuit against our Mr Cantabella and myself is coming. There's a chance it could be swept under the carpet because of the government's involvement. But it won't be pretty otherwise." She tilted her chin downward. "The experiment broke a number of laws and didn't quite make it past the ethics standards. We hurt a lot of people, and now we're going to make some radical amends for it."

She turned her head towards him. "You have every right to press charges yourself. I'm not even sure if your signed agreement was valid, since you were still a minor. I... I'm sorry for my part in this, even if I didn't fully understand at the time."

He let a moment of silence lapse before he lifted his hand in front him, shaking his head. "You've no need to apologise to me. Strictly speaking, there ought to be punishment for instances where the law was broken... But I nothing was truly wrong with my treatment here. It wasn't precisely what I was expecting, but I needed it nonetheless."

Eve frowned. "You _needed_ to be controlled with hypnosis and experimental drugs?"

"...Yes, honestly. You know of my latest victory in court, do you not? Surely you've heard of some of the circumstances of that case?"

She gripped her elbows. "Yes, but only the barest details."

"Still, I'm sure you understand." He shut his eyes. "That night was the most horrific of my life, and I found no respite afterwards. The memories haunt me enough now, as a grown man. If I had been burdened with them relentlessly for those ten years... Would I still be sane today? Would I even be alive?" He shook his head. "As repulsive as the whole experiment undoubtedly seems to many... 'Twas my only hope. I do not regret my participation in the least."

He fell silent, and Eve looked down, lost in thought.

"Oh, are you finished with your drink, Mr Barnham? Could I get you another?"

Zacharias looked up to see Greyerl paused just past the coffee table. "I'm refilling mine, anyway," she said with a smile.

"There's no need, Ms Greyerl, but thank you." He paused. "Or is it Dr Greyerl yet?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet. I've still several years of schooling ahead before I can return as a physician."

He nodded once. "Labyrinthia shall miss you in the meantime."

"That's been said to me a few times now." She gave a small bow. "I'll finish my education as quickly as I can, I promise you."

"Very well." He grinned a bit. "I shall hold you to that."

"I would expect no less." She dipped her head. "Have a good day, Ms Belduke, Mr Barnham." With that, she hurried towards the kitchen.

_How could I have wanted to throw such a wonderful young woman to the flames?_

But, then, he hadn't considered her human at all and had only been treating her appropriately in that regard. Even if she clearly regretted what she'd though she had done, even if the truth of her humanity had been staring him in the face...

Story or not, he'd had no right to treat the "witches" in such a way. He had set right the crimes of his days before Labyrinthia, but he had much more to atone for after all.

Even with Greyerl gone, Eve hadn't yet pulled herself out of her silence.

"Is something the matter?" Barnham started.

She opened her mouth in response but remained silent a moment longer. "Zacharias..." She faced him. "If the memories are really that bad, we do still have the anaesthetic. We could easily wipe them from your mind again." She sighed. "Without the rest of the mess we made here, of course."

He stiffened, once again unsettling Constantine, who adjusted his position.

The flashbacks were no longer driving him mad, but they still tortured his mind. They still made themselves known in the panic attacks that delayed his case-solving from time to time. His brother had still been murdered, his parents had still been abusive, and he had still slain an innocent with his own hands. The truth would always be there, of course, but why the memory? He had been unspeakably desperate to erase them before, and they did no better good for him now.

And yet...

He shook his head.

Eve looked down. "Right... It's still not legal therapy, after all."

" 'Tis not my main issue with it." He raised a hand facing his chest, the fingers curled. "Yes, leaving those memories behind would be a great relief. But I cannot do it. When I abandoned them before, 'twas naught but cowardice. I did it entirely for myself, because I was desperate to rid myself of the pain and guilt—even at the cost of forgetting my younger brother ever existed."

Teeth gritted, he struck the coffee table with his fist, making the ice in his glass rattle. "I will not betray him again. He deserves to exist in the memory of someone who truly knew him and cared for him. I let him die twice already—once at my mother's hands, and once in my own mind. I will not do it again. Even if it is unsettling for me, even if it is painful, I will not abandon him."

He took a deep breath and withdrew his hand. " 'Tis thoughtful of you to offer, but my answer is no."

Dropping her gaze, she nodded. "You're... a strong man, to make that sort of sacrifice for him."

He paused, expression serious. "Eve... I don't suppose you've erased your memories of the Great Fire?"

"Not with the anaesthetic, no." She shook her head. "But I didn't remember the real part I had played at the time."

"That was not a conscious decision on your part, I presume. And even after remembering, you haven't erased—fled—the horror of it. You are just as strong as me, if not more so."

Eve managed an embarrassed smile. Zacharias managed to smile back before a thud behind him shook the sofa. Half-folded arms now leaned on the couch back between them, one of the newcomer's swaying hands clinging to a bottle that once contained poison.

"Hey, so, are you two actually together yet or not?"

Eve jerked back, and Barnham leapt to his feet.

"H-how dare you inquire into such a matter?!" he snarled as Eve reached under the couch, feeling around as if searching for a disguise.

That man drew back nearly enough to fall headlong. "Come on! I'm just saying what everyone is thinking!"

"Well, perhaps 'everyone' has a good reason for keeping silent on the matter!" He caught one glance of Eve with her face buried in her hands, clearly mortified, before drawing his sharpened sword and positioning the tip rather close to Emeer's face. "I suggest you see reason and tame your tongue lest I be forced to tame it myself!"

On the verge of bursting into tears, that man opted to silence himself with a couple of swigs. In lieu of Barnham withdrawing his sword, Emeer slipped away to pester some other victim in the crowd. Greyerl, chatting with Ms Primstone, had to dodge the drunkard as he hurried past the bards crooning at either side of the drink counter. Just beyond Emeer's path, Lettie accepted a drink from Espella that barely managed to stay in the cup when she sped off to deal more letters. Mr Cantabella was hovering a bit farther behind, watching his daughter as he split some sticky bread with Ms Eclaire. At the far edge of the kitchen, Kira criticised a stone carving of flowers as Cutter tried not to burst out crying. Rouge had set up a puzzle on one counter that allowed the former judge to break a great many chalices, while Ridelle had captured the attention of several Vigilantes with another riddle.

As his eyes roamed the crowd, Zacharias sheathed his sword and again sat next to Eve. His dog pounced back onto his lap as he leaned his head back against the cushion and smiled.

At last, he and Constantine had found a worthy home.


End file.
